THE VENGEANCE OF ROAN SINCLAIR

ASHLYN DREWEK

FOX HOLLOW BOOKS

Copyright © 2022 by Ashlyn Drewek

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Design by Teresa Conner at Wolf Sparrow Creations

For everyone who has to hide who they truly are. I hope you get your moment in the sun. You deserve it.

CONTENTS

Foreword

1.  Sasha

2.  Roan

3.  Sasha

4.  Roan

5.  Sasha

6.  Roan

7.  Sasha

8.  Roan

9.  Roan

10.  Roan

11.  Sasha

12.  Roan

13.  Sasha

14.  Roan

15.  Sasha

16.  Sasha

17.  Roan

18.  Sasha

19.  Roan

20.  Sasha

21.  Roan

22.  Sasha

23.  Roan

24.  Sasha

25.  Sasha

26.  Roan

27.  Sasha

28.  Roan

29.  Sasha

30.  Roan

31.  Sasha

32.  Roan

33.  Sasha

34.  Roan

35.  Sasha

36.  Roan

Epilogue

Epilogue

A note from the author

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Ashlyn Drewek

FOREWORD

This book contains references to alcohol/smoking, ethnic and homosexual slurs, sexual assault, mental health issues including PTSD and depression, on-page torture, and a lot of profanity. Reader discretion is advised.

1

SASHA

WALKING down the row of men, I surveyed each with a narrowed gaze. They were all cut from the same cloth — cold, ruthless, and, above all, lethal. Each came with a violent reputation and a skillset not suitable for the civilian world. They were just the sort of men I’d asked for and their respective bosses delivered.

“You.” I stopped in front of a blond, head cocked. He looked like he could be Roan’s body-double. Tall and lean with a youthful face. That was both useful and problematic. If anyone was looking for Roan, this one could lead them straight to him. Still, if someone had to die, I’d rather it be a stand-in than the real thing. “Over there.”

The blond stepped past me and marched to the center of the room, waiting for me to select his opponent.

I glanced at the remaining men in line. “All of you. Go.”

Pivoting on my heel, I folded my arms over my chest and watched the five men swarm forward against the blond. His blue eyes snapped to mine briefly, accepting the challenge with a small smirk, before flicking back to his rivals.

The first man rushed forward. The blond blocked the punch and kicked the side of the man’s knee out, dropping him. He wasted no time going for the second one, punching him so hard in the chest the man stumbled back, also out of the fight.

Three and four charged him at the same time. He focused his attention on the bigger of the two, twisted his hand in his shirt and yanked him in close to deliver a series of bone-crunching punches, regardless of the hits he took in return. Once the third man dropped in a bloody heap, he squared off against the remaining two.

I arched an eyebrow and slipped a hand inside my waistband, retrieving a knife. Catching the eye of one of the attackers, I slid the knife across the floor and resumed my stance, arms crossed.

The man snatched the weapon off the ground and lunged at the blond. He ducked and wove, deflecting the blade, looking for an opening to retaliate. With the other, unarmed, opponent circling toward his backside, the blond defender was running out of options.

“How’s it going?” a quiet voice said next to me. I didn’t need to turn to know it was Misha.

“We’ll see.”

“Better than Oleg?”

“We’ll see.”

Misha chuckled and glanced at his watch. “When this is done, we have a meeting.”

I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye and nodded.

The blond was in a headlock now, trying to dislodge the man behind him while not getting stabbed by the one in front. With a series of elbow strikes and kicks backward, the blond freed himself and threw his efforts into the one with the knife. They grappled with one another, blood slinging between them as the knife sliced back and forth, not caring who it cut with its curved blade.

Finally, the blond won out, twisting the man’s arm backward and forcing him to stab himself in the shoulder with the knife the man wouldn’t let go of.

Misha clapped politely.

I, on the other hand, strode forward in silence.

Sweating, bleeding, and breathing hard, the blond’s chin tipped up defiantly.

A step away, I unholstered a gun and pointed it at his face.

In the blink of an eye, the blond’s hands were on mine. One grabbed the gun while the other slammed into the inside of my wrist, bending it inward. The gun slipped from my hand. He flipped it to his dominant hand and took aim at my chest.

I assessed the blond again, giving him an approving nod. “You’re hired.”

He inclined his head and spun the gun on his finger, handing it back to me, grip first.

“What’s your name?” I asked, holstering the weapon.

“Ilya Chernyshevsky.”

Tossing a glance over my shoulder at Misha, I bit my tongue before I said something inappropriate. I should have known. From their appearance to their fighting style, Ilya was like a younger version of his uncle. It was so obvious now, I felt like a fool for not seeing the connection sooner.

Misha smirked and strolled toward the door, texting on his phone.

I withdrew my own phone, opening it to a picture of Roan. It showed him smiling, even though he was looking away from the camera. I don’t even remember what he was so happy about, but it was one of my favorite pictures of him, probably because it captured him so well — warm, radiant, perfect. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen that smile lately. As a result, I wanted to live inside that picture, with that Roan, not the one I’d been sharing an apartment with for the past few months.

Holding up the picture for Ilya, I arched an eyebrow at him. “This is who you’ll be guarding.”

Ilya nodded, his face blank.

“If he dies, you die,” I said matter-of-factly. “If he’s hurt, you die. If he comes home with so much as a scratch on him, you die. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“I don’t give a fuck who your family is,” I added when his gaze darted to Misha. “You work for me, not Misha. These are the terms. Take them or leave them.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good. Meet me at the Adler Theater tomorrow at ten.”

Ilya nodded once again and shook my hand with a firm grip. I felt the tiniest bit better knowing Roan would be in safe hands, no matter how pissed he’d be.

With the weight finally lifted from my shoulders, I turned and followed Misha out of the basement gym. We made our way up the stairs to the ground floor and exited into an alley, climbing into the back of his waiting Escalade.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was related to you?” I asked once we were settled and the car was underway.

Misha laughed. “I didn’t know you’d pick him. You had some of the best in the business in there.”

He might have found the situation amusing, but I sure as hell didn’t. Roan’s safety, his life, was the furthest thing from a joking matter. “You know I won’t hesitate to kill him if he fucks up.”

“He won’t.” Misha gave me a pointed look. No doubt he’d trained Ilya personally and if the boy was half as good as his uncle, Roan would be nearly as safe as he was with me.

“Good.” I gave my phone, and Roan’s picture, one last glance before tucking it in the inner pocket of my suit jacket. “Where are we going?”

“To get information,” Misha replied with a bright smile. “How is Roan?”

“Normal.” The weight of Misha’s stare was crushing. I finally looked up, right into his sky-blue eyes. As usual they were waiting, patient and knowing. “What do you expect me to say?”

“The truth.”

I scoffed and looked away again, watching the buildings rush by as we drove deeper into the heart of Chicago. “The truth… I don’t know what that is because he won’t say. I see him. I feel him. But he’s not there and I don’t know how to bring him back.”

“You know these things take time,” Misha said gently. “You’ve seen what happens to men after they’ve been violated. It is a hard thing to come back from. Some people never do.”

My knuckles cracked the harder my fist tightened. I knew it had happened, obviously, but every time I thought about it my blood boiled all over again. How could I honestly expect Roan to move past it when I was enraged nearly everyday at the mere thought?

Misha wasn’t deterred by my silence. “Even after the body heals, the mind still carries the injury. All you can do is be there for him, no matter what he does to try and push you away. He may lash out at you, but in some way it’s because he knows you can take it. And you have to take it, Sasha. If you want him to move forward, he has to know you can handle anything — like he had to. Otherwise, there is no future for the two of you.”

I forced myself to nod, acknowledging the painful truth of his words. God knew I was trying to be there for him. It just wasn’t enough. Some days I saw the old Roan, but those days were fewer and far between. I couldn’t help but think perhaps he’d be better off if I did leave. Misha could talk to Sergei, insist on my returning to Russia, or any of the other European cities Sergei had connections with. That way Roan wouldn’t be reminded, day in and day out, of what happened — and why. He could move on completely, without my world overshadowing him, a constant threat hanging over both our heads.

“Neither down, nor feather,” Misha said, patting my knee.

“To the devil,” I replied flatly.

I appreciated the well wishes, but I doubted luck was on my side in this instance. Getting Roan back to normal was going to take more than superstition, but damned if I knew what that was.

2

ROAN

THE SOUND of running water woke me out of a dead sleep. I reached for the pillow beside me, feeling nothing but air. Of course it was empty. It was almost always empty these days.

Checking my phone, I groaned at the time. Nearly three in the morning. Great.

Rolling out of bed, I raked a hand through my hair and staggered toward the master bath. I pushed the door open and blinked against the bright light, rubbing my eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” Sasha said, not even bothering to look at me.

Ignoring his dismissal, I moved closer. He was mostly dressed the same as he was earlier, minus the suit jacket. He’d also lost the tie and top several buttons on his shirt. The white sleeves were rolled up his forearms, which was a good thing since his hands were covered in blood.

I drew in a sharp breath and met his gaze in the mirror.

He swallowed before answering my unasked question. “It’s not mine. At least, I don’t think it is.” He rinsed them under water and studied his swollen knuckles. There were a couple cuts, but there was absolutely no way the blood was all his. Which meant someone else had a really shitty night and it was all because of him.

I wanted to tell him I didn’t care whose blood it was — I didn’t like him strolling in the door at three in the morning covered in anyone’s blood like it was just another day at a dirty job. I mean, for him it was just another day. But this was the sort of job no one should have, let alone the man I was in a relationship with. If that’s what you could even call this thing between us.

Once his hands were clean, Sasha peeled off his clothes and tossed them in the basket for dry cleaning, stepping into the shower without a backward glance.

Shaking my head, I went back to bed even though I was officially wide awake.

On the one hand, Sasha’s “promotion” came with a lot of benefits. The high-end apartment, the pay, the prestige. But the trade off? This. Not knowing what condition he’d come home from “work” in, or if he’d come home at all. Not to mention the ever-present threat from law enforcement and other criminals.

It’s not like I could say anything, though. In a fucked-up way, I benefitted from it. As Sasha’s… whatever the hell I was, I lived in an amazing apartment rent free. He pretty much paid for everything, despite the fact I had enough jobs coming in to generate a fairly steady income. Anytime I so much as offered to pay for anything, he got offended. But it still didn’t sit well with me. It was blood money. Literally. And there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it.

I was still awake when he slipped between the sheets, naked, his skin warm and damp from the shower. He scooted closer, wrapping one arm around me and pulling me against his chest. Goosebumps spread over my arms as he nuzzled the back of my neck, accompanied with a heavy exhale, like he was relieved.

Being wrapped up with him stirred up old feelings, much to my irritation. Despite the fact my dick decided to wake up too, I was so not in the mood. Not that it would have mattered to him even if I was. Just like his work, sex was a taboo topic in the Vassiliev dwelling. Kissing was about as far as he was willing to go these days and even that ended abruptly, usually with one or both of us pissed off and in need of a cold shower.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured against my skin, his large palm pressed against my bare chest, right over my heart.

“Nothing.” Total lie, but it wasn’t worth the argument. I just didn’t have the energy these days. It was all I could do to maintain basic things, like hygiene and making it to work on time. Being peppy around the clock was fucking draining.

“Then why is your heart is beating so fast?”

“I’m happy to see you.”

“You haven’t seen me for fifteen minutes.”

“Well, when you come to bed naked, what do you expect?” I rolled over onto my back to look at him.

Humming his disbelief, he kissed me anyway. He held the side of my face while his tongue pushed past my lips in search of mine. I don’t know why he even bothered. Without any discussion, he’d apparently decided to take up a vow of celibacy following my attack, leaving me high and fucking dry — but then he’d kiss me like that. And I wasn’t supposed to get turned on? Fat chance. It’s like he didn’t trust himself, which was absolutely ridiculous. He was one of the strictest, most disciplined people I’d ever met, short of Misha. There’s no way he’d suddenly “lose control” or whatever the fuck he was so worried about.

Mentally, I still wasn’t in the mood. Physically was another story. My traitorous dick stood at full attention with only my slinky basketball shorts acting as a barrier between me and Sasha’s already-hard cock. A fact which also meant absolutely nothing. He seemed to have no problem giving us both blue balls with zero relief in sight.

Well, fuck that. I was beyond tired of waiting for him to make a move.

Using speed to my advantage, I rolled quickly, straddling his lap and taking his face between my hands. Before he could talk, I kissed him again, coaxing his lips open with my tongue.

His fingers dug into my hips, holding me in place while his cock pressed against my ass. I swiveled my hips, trying to create more friction. The low growl in the back of his throat came a second before he pulled his mouth away from mine.

“What are you doing?”

“What the fuck does it look like?” I leaned down to reclaim his mouth, but he turned his face. Undeterred, I reached for his dick. He grabbed my hand in a vise grip, not to the point of pain but definitely a warning he wasn’t playing around. Even with the faint light in the room, I could see his frown as he glared at the ceiling. A sickly pang of rejection ripped right through me, magnified by his lame ass excuse.

“It’s late.”

“It’s been three months.” I tried to state it as a simple fact, but it came out sharp with more than a bit of a huff. Three months of this awkwardness between us. Three months since I nearly died at the hands of the men who could be classified as Sasha’s “co-workers.” And three months since he had anything to do with me in that capacity.

“The doctor said—”

“The doctor didn’t say anything about your dick being off-limits. Ok?” I climbed off of him and back to my side of the bed but I didn’t lay down again. Horny and angry weren’t exactly the best moods to be in while trying to sleep. “And the last time I checked, my dick was fine, too. Functioning just fine, as you can see.”

He remained frustratingly silent, glaring at the ceiling instead of having a conversation. God forbid. It’s not like I wanted him to bare his fucking soul. Just maybe clue me in as to when I’d be good enough for him again, when he’d finally get over whatever his fucking hangup was and get back to the way things used to be. But would he do that? Would he say any of that? Nope.

Jesus. I should have known better, all the way around — should have known better than to bring it up, should have known better than to expect anything out of him other than stubborn silence.

Throwing the covers back, I slipped out of bed again and disappeared into the closet. When I came back out completely dressed and wearing running shoes, he sat up and turned on the light next to the bed. “Where are you going?”

“For a run.”

Groaning, he got out of bed and headed for the closet.

“I don’t need you coming with me,” I snapped, grabbing my phone off the nightstand. “I’ll call Oleg if it’s that big of a fucking deal.”

“Oleg is gone,” Sasha said from the depth of the closet.

“What?” I stayed where I was, staring at the row of suit jackets, waiting for him to reappear. When he did, it was also in workout clothes with a resigned expression. “What happened to him?”

“He’s gone,” Sasha repeated as flatly as the first time.

“You mean you killed him.” When he didn’t deny it, I knew without a doubt my former bodyguard was in chunks at the bottom of Lake Michigan. Crossing my arms over my chest, I glared at him. “It was a fucking car accident, Sasha! Accident! They hit us! And I wasn’t even injured.”

“He should have been a better driver,” Sasha replied with a shrug. “A better driver would not have been rear-ended.”

“This is not ok.” I stopped myself before saying anything else and stormed out of the room. Snatching my earbuds off the kitchen counter, I lengthened my strides when I heard him behind me.

I managed to make it to the front door and open it an inch before his large hand reached around me and slammed it shut. Like it would make a damn bit of difference, I yanked on the handle again, hoping maybe he’d get the point.

“I’m not your fucking captive anymore, Sasha. Let me out.” I didn’t look at him, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of his pale blue gaze as it seared into my skin.

“He knew the terms,” he said, as if that completely justified murdering a guy who didn’t do anything wrong.

“Yeah? So did I!” I turned my face toward him, not even trying to hide my rising anger. “I knew the danger in being with you. Everything that happened in that alley is on me. Stop taking it out on everyone else in my life, for fuck’s sake!”

“Roan.” He jerked back with a flinch, like I slapped him.

“No. I’m owning it, ok? What happened to me? My fault. I don’t give a shit what you or the therapist says. I didn’t fucking listen to you. I put myself in that situation. But you’re stomping around blaming everyone else for my fuck up. It has to stop.”

“They had no right to—”

“Save it.” The moment I felt the pressure on the door let up, I yanked it open again and wedged my foot in the opening so he couldn’t slam it shut. “I’ll be in the gym. Considering Misha literally owns the fucking building, I should be pretty safe, don’t you think?”

The muscle in his jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything as he stepped back. He looked as pissed as I felt. I knew I should have, but I didn’t feel the slightest bit of regret for picking a fight at three in the morning. Maybe if he had a normal job, we could have had this fight over dinner like a normal couple.

Then again, there was nothing “normal” about us. There never had been and there never would be. I was starting to wonder if it was even worth it anymore. If he thought I was worth it.

Stuffing my earbuds in, I slipped out the door and down the hall. I didn’t have to close the door. Sasha did it for me — by fucking slamming it.

3

SASHA

THE NEXT MORNING, the bed beside me was empty.

Gritting my teeth, I threw the covers back, trying to come up with some plausible explanation for Roan’s absence as I marched out into the living room. I stopped short when I saw Roan was there, asleep on the couch. Relief and irritation warred in the center of my chest.

He was home and he was safe. But he was avoiding me. It was happening more and more, to the point where I held my breath every night when I came home, waiting to see if he was even there and if he was, what mood would he be in? As much as I tried to give him what he needed, I’d say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and he’d disappear to another part of the apartment — or leave altogether, like last night.

I made breakfast as quietly as I could, but Roan still woke up. He sat up and rubbed his eye while checking his phone. Cracking a smile at whatever was on the screen, he tapped out some sort of reply and then stood. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he purposely avoided even looking at the kitchen, despite the fact he was walking toward it.

“Breakfast?” I asked, swiping some butter on the slice of black bread before laying halved sausages down.

Roan shook his head, reaching for the coffee pot instead. He threw the grounds in the top and turned it on, walking away without a word, a glance, or gesture of any kind.

Exhaling a long, slow breath, I braced my hands against the counter and closed my eyes. I knew things would be… an adjustment. I guess I was lulled into a false sense of security during those first few weeks here. Initially things were fine. No, they were great. He was happy. We were alive, for starters, and we were together. I couldn’t have asked for more.

Then I went back to work and this other side of Roan appeared — the dark, quiet, sullen side. It didn’t take a genius to see the two were related. Along with everything else he endured, this new weight settled on his shoulders and wouldn’t leave. I had no idea how to turn back the clock, no idea how not to piss him off these days, because everything I did, or didn’t do, was wrong.

His phone dinged from where he’d left it, next to the coffee pot. I stole a glance at the hallway before crossing to the other side of the kitchen. Picking up his phone, I scanned the text notification, my teeth grinding together.

It was from someone I’d never heard of — someone named Samuel. No last name.

You’re brilliant!! If you were here, I’d fucking kiss you!

If there was anything else, it wasn’t displayed on the notification. Setting the phone down, I backed away before I broke the fucking thing or stormed into the bathroom to demand answers.

Who the fuck was Samuel?!

Every time his phone blew up or he engaged in back-and-forth text messaging, Roan shrugged it off as one of the Starlings, someone from work, or even his mother. Replaying the past few months in my head, I began to doubt everything he’d told me. There had never been any mention of anyone named Samuel. Ever.

By the time I was done with breakfast and thoroughly pissed, Roan returned in a new outfit with damp, disheveled hair. He doctored his coffee the way he liked with cream and sugar and headed for the front door, checking his phone again on the way.

“I’ll drive you,” I said, downing the rest of my tea and hurrying after him.

“I have no doubt,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. Snatching his violin case off the floor, he yanked the door open and stormed out.

Keeping my mouth shut, I ground my molars together and slammed the door behind me. Maybe I should have introduced him to Ilya first thing, so he could deal with Roan’s pissiness instead of me. But then again, I wanted to see if Roan was really going to the theater and who the fuck he was talking to when he got there.

The silent treatment continued in the elevator. Surprise, surprise. The space between us was only about two-hundred centimeters, but that invisible boundary may as well have been the fucking Urals. I saw Roan but I couldn’t get to him, no matter what I did.

The car ride wasn’t much better. Roan was there, right there, next to me, but didn’t acknowledge me at all. He didn’t do anything, for that matter. No tapping along to the music, no head bobs, no obvious people watching. He was like a fucking statue, staring out the window but not seeing a thing.

He couldn’t have been that pissed about Oleg. They barely knew each other. Then again, he hadn’t known Katya for very long either and he took her death personally too.

Parking in the alley next to the theater, I got out and circled around the back of the car. Roan was already out and halfway to the stage door by the time I reached his side. Once upon a time, he’d wait for me to open the door and give me grief about chivalry. Now? He didn’t bother waiting for me to open or close any door, car or otherwise.

“I’ll text you when I’m done,” he said, opening the door to the side entrance.

“I’m staying for a bit.”

Pausing in the threshold, he shot me a look that cut right through me. Rather than say whatever was on his mind, he shook his head and disappeared into the dark theater. I was definitely staying after that fucking look. The fact he didn’t want me around was a giant red flag.

The Adler was one of the few places I knew his safety was guaranteed, so I didn’t feel the need to rush after him. By the time I made it in and to the front of the auditorium, he’d disappeared somewhere backstage anyway.

I cracked my neck on either side and ventured toward the lobby to wait for Ilya. Putting some fucking distance between myself and Roan wouldn’t hurt either.

Ten minutes before the hour, Ilya appeared, looking like a slightly smaller version of his uncle, dressed in a simple black suit, minus all of the tattoos.

“Sasha,” he said with a nod, extending his hand.

“This way.” I tossed my head toward the auditorium.

“This is Feodor’s theater, isn’t it?” Ilya asked, studying the ornate interior as we walked.

“You know him?” I wouldn’t have been surprised. Feodor was Sergei’s cousin’s son, more like a nephew than anything. As the ballerino for the Bolshoi company, he was revered as the best dancer in Russia, hands down. Until someone took a sledgehammer to his leg in three places.

Ilya shook his head. “Not personally. I saw him dance in Moscow once. Such a shame what happened.”

“Yes, it was.” I pushed open the door to the auditorium and let him walk down the aisle first.

Roan was on stage with Feodor and the other artistic directors, listening as Feodor explained whatever he wanted while gesturing with one hand — the other supported him on a cane. None of them paid any attention to us as we slipped into one of the rows close, but not too close, to the stage and sat.

“Yes?” Feodor asked with a nod, glancing between Roan and another guy, one I didn’t recognize. “The dancers can only do so much. Work together. Make the atmosphere sing. Lights, sound, oh, where’s my costumer?” Feodor turned and started talking to a curly-haired woman with a sketchpad.

The guy next to Roan leaned in and said something. From my position, it looked like his mouth actually grazed Roan’s ear. Roan bit his lips and shook his head, keeping his attention on Feodor. The guy kept whispering anyway, until Roan’s composure started to crumble. He laughed and shoved the guy’s shoulder.

It took every bit of self-control I had not to leap onto that stage and break someone’s fucking arm. Whoever this new guy was, he was in for a world of hurt if he didn’t learn his fucking place. He’d get one warning from me, and that was only for Roan’s benefit.

Visions of punching the new guy in his fucking throat were interrupted by Ilya’s quiet voice.

“That’s him?” Ilya asked, scooting forward on the edge of his chair and folding his arms across the back of the seat in front of him.

“Mhmm.” I was happy to see he zeroed in on Roan since my attention was fixed on the mystery man standing next to him, the one who seemed so intent on making Roan laugh, like it was his fucking job and not whatever Feodor was paying his ass to do.

“What else do I need to know?” Ilya asked, tossing a glance at me. “Anything that wasn’t in his file?”

“No. That was all.” It wasn’t. Not by a long shot. But for his purposes, Ilya had everything he needed to do his job effectively.

Ilya nodded, tracking Roan as he moved across the stage and hopped down into the orchestra pit, chatting with his fellow musicians. His jovial mood lessened the further he got from the mystery man, morphing to a professional one that could best be described as a mix of teacher and musician. It was the same persona he had when he gave music lessons in college, equal parts patient and perfectionist.

Slipping my phone out, I searched the stage for Roan’s new friend and snapped a quick picture. I texted it to Eduard with one simple instruction.

Get me everything.

Eduard texted back a thumbs-up emoji.

Less than an hour later, an email popped up with a complete breakdown on this asshole.

Samuel.

This was Samuel?

First the text, then that fucking display of intimacy right in front of me?

Mindful not to break my goddamn phone, I kept scrolling. According to the file, he was a little older than Roan, single, and brought home a pittance compared to my salary, even before the raise. Apparently he was Feodor’s lighting director since the other one decided to go work for a TV show or something.

His social media was a mix of theater bullshit, stupid selfies, and some shitty attempt at edgy, urban photography. Over the past month, it seemed, Roan appeared in more and more of the photos, whether it was in the background or as the sole focus.

There was one of Roan sitting at the piano, playing, oblivious once again to the fact he was being stalked. It pained me to admit it was a good picture of him. The guy was lucky there was no fucking caption, other than tagging Roan’s all-but-inactive account and a stupid smiley face with sunglasses.

I tapped Ilya’s bicep and handed him the phone with Samuel’s driver’s license picture blown up. “Watch this one while you’re at it.”

Ilya studied the picture and glanced at the stage, but Samuel had disappeared. “Is he a threat?”

He sure the fuck was now. “He’s new. I don’t trust new.”

“I’m new,” Ilya replied with a lopsided grin, handing my phone back.

“You’re different.”

“Because I’m related to Misha?”

“Because you know what will happen if you cross me. I told you — I don’t give a fuck who you’re related to.” I wasn’t bluffing. At all. And after the shit I saw this morning? I was just hoping someone would cross that line.

Ilya wisely stopped smiling and inclined his head in understanding.

When the musicians took a break, Roan finally acknowledged I was still in the theater. He murmured something to the small group he was chatting with before climbing out of the orchestra pit. He approached us warily, his eyes darting between Ilya and I as we rose to meet him. “Is he the new one?”

I cleared my throat and gestured to my side. “This is Ilya Chernyshevsky. Ilya, Roan Sinclair.”

Roan cocked his head at the last name, extending his hand nevertheless. “As in...?”

“He’s my uncle,” Ilya replied, shaking Roan’s hand firmly.

“Does that mean you won’t kill this one?” Roan’s narrowed gaze snapped to me.

“He knows what is at stake,” I said, trying not to growl the response.

Roan gave Ilya a once over, but I couldn’t tell if he was happy with Oleg’s replacement or not. Although, he’d never been happy with Oleg — period. Roan resented him and I had a feeling Ilya would be no different, regardless of his last name. Frankly, I didn’t give a fuck as long as Roan was safe. Ilya was hired to keep Roan alive and unharmed. Being liked wasn’t a requirement of the job.

Ilya nodded in agreement with me. “Your safety is all that matters.”

It looked like Roan was about to argue, but I cut him off. “I have to go. Ilya will take you home.”

Roan nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He shifted his weight to his back foot, away from me. “Be careful.” It was all he said. It’s all he could say. There was no parting hug, no kiss. Just a resigned look in his eyes and those two words.

Suppressing the urge to scream out all of my frustration, or just grab him and kiss him, I turned and headed for the door without uttering a single word.

4

ROAN

“ARE YOU FINISHED?” Ilya asked, rising to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket as I approached him for the second time, violin case in hand.

“Yeah. That’s all for today. Are you parked out back?”

He shook his head. “Front.”

“Ok, let’s roll.” I was beyond ready to be done with this day. Between my early-morning fight with Sasha and the hours of tossing and turning after the fact, all I wanted to do was go home and sleep for the next eighteen hours.

“Roan!” Samuel called out behind us, jogging up the aisle.

Summoning the last bit of energy I had left, I suppressed a sigh and stopped, throwing a wary glance at Ilya. Hopefully he wouldn’t be a fucking bulldog like Oleg, otherwise this was going to be awkward as hell to try and explain… Samuel didn’t know about my personal life. No one at the Adler did. Yeah, they saw Sasha and Oleg hanging around (and now Ilya), but I never gave details on who they were or what they were doing and I didn’t want to start. To them, Sasha was one of Feodor’s investors and Oleg was his PA. “Yeah?”

“Are you going to Kelly’s later?” Samuel smiled, his brown eyes bright and hopeful.

“Oh, shit. I forgot.” Complete and utter lie. It’s all anyone talked about today, but there was no way in hell I was going anywhere, let alone to a party full of loud, crazy theater people. “Um, probably not. I’ve got a lot of work to—”

“Aw, come on! You have to go! Please?” Samuel pressed his hands together. When I didn’t respond, he grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Come on! I need a partner for beer pong!”

Ilya shifted next to me. Before he could beat the shit out of Samuel, I forced a smile to my face and disentangled myself quickly and took a step in Ilya’s direction to head him off at the pass.

“Oh, sorry. Are you two, like, a thing?” Samuel asked, gesturing between Ilya and I.

“No,” I blurted out quickly. “He’s my... cousin. Sorry. Anyway, I’ll think about it. Ok?” Hopefully that would appease him.

“You better. Otherwise there’s no reason for me to go.” He grinned and punched my shoulder lightly. “I’ll text you later. K?”

Nodding, I waved him off and hurried toward the front door before Ilya could start hounding me in front of everyone like I was a fucking toddler.

“Your friend seems nice,” Ilya commented with a non-accusatory tone, falling into step next to me.

“Yeah.” Nice and normal. More importantly, he was completely unaware of the past few months and everything that happened. To him, I was just a musician, just a composer, just Roan. Not a fucking victim or some precious bauble that had to be guarded around the clock. Not weak or pathetic or powerless or unwanted.

“What time should I pick you up tonight?” Ilya asked, holding the front door open.

“For what?”

“Kelly’s? Or whatever you two were talking about?”

“I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

I stopped walking and faced him with a furrowed brow. “What?”

He frowned back at me, his brows knitting together. “Why don’t you want to go out with Samuel?”

My confusion turned to full-on aggravation. “Samuel, eh? Glad to see Sasha’s done his fucking homework. That didn’t take long.” I shook my head and resumed walking, even though I had no clue where I was going. At that point I didn’t care. I just had to move before I fucking exploded.

Of course Sasha knew about Samuel. Why was I even surprised? I would have bet money he did backgrounds on every single person at the Adler. Better yet, he probably installed some software to track me through my phone or had a cloning app or some shit and literally spied on every part of my life. And what could I do about it? Nothing. Completely powerless once again to control anything in my own goddamn life.

Ilya caught up to me easily. “You seem mad.”

“Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“Because Sasha cares enough to look out for you?”

I snorted. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it. You know what? I’m actually glad we got this out of the way. Now there’s no doubt whose side you’re on.”

“Yes. Yours.” He said it so convincingly, so matter-of-fact that I actually screeched to a halt and did a double-take.

“Mine? Really? And how, exactly, are you on my side? You’ve known me for all of five minutes. You’re being paid to keep me alive, meanwhile reporting back to Sasha every time I so much as fucking sneeze. So, yeah. Thanks for having my back, Ilya. Greatly appreciate it.”

“I’m not a spy,” Ilya replied, a frown pulling at his mouth. “My only job is to keep you safe.”

“From who? Sasha killed the people who—” My stomach lurched. I stopped a second before the admission came out, along with the coffee from this morning. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Thankfully, Ilya didn’t push to continue the conversation, or argument, or whatever it was, as we walked down the sidewalk. When we reached a black BMW, he held a hand out for my violin case and popped the hatch.

“I’m sorry,” I said, handing it off with a sheepish smile. None of this was Ilya’s fault. I shouldn’t be a dick to him because Sasha was being ridiculously overprotective. “You seem like a smart guy and you’re clearly connected. So why in the hell would you take this job?”

Ilya shrugged, setting the case inside and closing the hatch. “Because it’s important.”

“You don’t know me. I’m nothing. A no one. That’s the opposite of ‘important.’”

“You’re someone to him.” Ilya fixed me with a look I couldn’t quite decipher. Much like his uncle, there was a keen awareness in his eyes, but the rest of his face remained unmoving. “That makes you important.”

“Did he tell you he killed my last bodyguard?” I raised my brows at him.

He blinked, once, solemnly, as stone faced as the rest of the Russians I’d encountered. If the news was shocking, it didn’t register at all.

“Wanna know why?” I continued, tentatively feeling him out, trying to see how much Sasha relayed. “He had the audacity to allow himself to be rear-ended while I was in the car. Is my life more important than his was? Is it more important than yours?”

Again, I got zero reaction except a single blink. “To Sasha it is. So, yes.”

I shook my head. Say what you wanted about Russians, their dedication was like nothing I had ever seen before. Once they committed themselves to something, their pride refused to let them give anything less than one hundred and ten percent.

As I moved around to the passenger side, my cell phone chirped with a text message. I expected it to be from Samuel, bugging me about the party again. Or Frankie, sending the hundredth meme of the day, or bitching me out for not returning her calls. Hell, I even thought it might be Freddy checking in on me between his classes.

Wrong on all accounts.

It was from my father, the last fucking person I thought would text.

You have twenty-four hours to clean out your room. Anything left behind will be thrown out.

Fucking asshole!

I clicked the screen off and shoved the phone back into my pocket. Propping my elbow against the armrest, I held my forehead and closed my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Ilya asked quietly. He started the car, but didn’t pull away from the curb yet.

There wasn’t any point in trying to lie to him. He’d see right through it anyway. “I have to go get the rest of my stuff from my parents’ house.”

“When?”

“Within twenty-four hours, apparently.”

“Should I arrange a moving van?”

“No.”

“Do you want to go right now?”

“No. But I don’t have a choice. Fucking typical.” I bit the tip of my tongue, forcibly silencing myself.

Ilya nodded and pulled out into traffic, heading north. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I sighed. Even if I wanted to, I had no idea where to start. It was the story of my life, really. No matter what I did, I was a fucking disappointment, to my father most of all. The only time he felt like communicating was when he dictated how things were going to unfold. The fact I deferred Georgetown for a year guaranteed me months of silence until today of all fucking days when I was already on the verge of snapping.

There had been zero concern for my wellbeing after the brutal attack I barely fucking survived. No questions about my whereabouts in the weeks afterward. Mom at least checked in every once in a while, though she had no idea I was living with Sasha. Hell, she didn’t even know who Sasha was. For all she knew, I could have been couch-surfing on the North Side or sleeping on fucking park benches. The only people in my life who knew about my sort-of boyfriend and the extent of my injuries were the Starlings and Misha, probably. Misha seemed to know everything.

I gave Ilya a side-eye as he drove. Maybe he knew about it too. But then again, Sasha was pretty paranoid about any Russian other than Misha seeing us together, so I doubted it. Unless Misha told his nephew…

“How much did he tell you about me? This… job?” I asked once we were on the tollway.

Ilya shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know if Sasha told you why he wants me to have a bodyguard.”

“He’s a dangerous man from a dangerous world. He wants to keep you safe,” Ilya replied with a shrug, as if the answer was painfully obvious.

“He blames himself for me almost dying a few months ago,” I said, picking at a piece of lint on my knee. “It wasn’t his fault, at all. But he won’t let it go.”

“He loves you. How do you expect him to let it go?”

My head whipped up in his direction, eyes wide. “He told you that?”

“You think a man like him would confess something like that to a total stranger?” Ilya chuckled. “No. But, I’m not blind.”

“So you don’t care that I’m gay?” It might have been a risk to blurt it out like that, but he clearly wasn’t dumb.

He rolled his eyes. “Do you care that I’m straight?”

“No, but it’s not exactly the same thing.”

“No, I suppose not. But I love my uncle. I can’t exactly turn around and hate you. I’m not a hypocrite.”

“Misha’s gay?!” My jaw about hit my lap.

His blond brows lifted. “I thought you knew?”

I shook my head. Although, things made a hell of a lot more sense in hindsight.

After that whopper of an icebreaker was out of the way, the rest of the conversation flowed easily. Since Ilya had a whole report to read on me, he happily gave me the rundown on his own background. The amount of talking he did, in and of itself, was impressive considering how standoffish the rest of the Russians were with me.

Unlike Sasha, Ilya came to the States voluntarily at an equally young age. After Ilya’s father was killed in some hostage situation, Misha essentially took over in his brother’s place. He arranged for Ilya and his mother to make the international move and once he left the Russian special forces, Misha came to America as well. How or why he made the leap from military to mafia was a mystery, even to Ilya.

Ilya’s mostly-American upbringing probably explained why he was so laid back, at least compared to Sasha. Ilya was quick to laugh or smile when it suited him, but he could turn stoic as fast as the rest of them. His accent wasn’t as thick as the others, but it was still there, especially when he said certain words, like “water.”

Not surprisingly, he worked for his uncle doing God knew what until Sasha came along with a “better” offer — though we still disagreed on the meaning of better. He insisted it was a promotion. I maintained he needed a CT scan or something.

“You know he’s not a very nice boss, right?” I said, in case he was somehow unaware of Sasha’s volatile temper.

He chuckled, giving me another one of his easy-going grins. “I think I’ll manage.”

“I hope so.”

Shortly after that, Ilya turned into my parents’ driveway and parked. I didn’t even have to ask how he knew their address — I’m sure it was right there in my creepy-ass Sasha file.

“Nice house,” Ilya murmured, staring up at the massive structure.

“Yeah.”

“Are we going to go in?”

“Yeah.”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Should I open the door?”

“No. I’m going.” I pushed open the car door and forced myself to climb out.

I hadn’t been here in weeks, not since the last time I came to grab a bag of clothes. Part of me told myself if I left the majority of my stuff here, then I wasn’t really “living” with Sasha. It was just an extended sleepover. But this? Today? Taking the rest of my shit? This made it permanent. This was the point of no return.

Walking through the front door with Ilya behind me, I glanced around the spacious foyer. No one was waiting for me, which was just as well. The quicker I could get in and out, the better off we’d all be.

“This way,” I said, trudging up the stairs.

It didn’t take long to pack up the remainder of my stuff. All of the furniture was obviously staying. Aside from my clothes, some photographs, and a couple of books, I didn’t have a need for any of the rest of it.

“That’s it, I guess.” Looking around my room, I tried to conjure up some sort of feeling. Some sadness or even anger. All I felt was a cold emptiness. It’s all I’d felt for weeks and the feeling only intensified the longer I stayed, staring at the remnants of my childhood — of my life before.

We were halfway down the staircase when the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Movement in my periphery drew my attention to the side of the stairs.

Fuck.

There stood my father, arms crossed, with a scowl on his face.

“Where’s the car?” he asked, without greeting.

He may as well have walked right up the stairs and punched me in the gut. “Excuse me?”

“The car. Where is my car?”

“My car is in Chicago,” I shot back.

“It better be here by the end of the week or I’ll report it as stolen.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Do not take that tone with me. You turn down Georgetown, disappear for weeks on end, and you think you can waltz in here like this is still your home?”

I wasn’t even going to attempt to address the “home” barb. This pile of bricks hadn’t been my home in years. “You told me to come get my stuff! Remember?”

“And now I’m telling you to bring my car back to me.”

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes and headed for the door.

“Is this him?” Dad asked, taking a step toward Ilya with a disapproving glare. “The one you’re pissing everything away for? I don’t know what’s worse — giving up Georgetown for your so-called ‘music’ or for some piece of ass who is going to drop you the second they realize you don’t have a dime to your name.”

Anger flared inside of me, but it was Ilya who squared off with him, jaw tense in a way reminiscent of Sasha. I didn’t think I’d have to see my bodyguard in action on Day One, but I also wouldn’t mind seeing my father get his ass kicked.

“Nope,” I replied with a smirk, surprised my father even a) knew I was gay and b) acknowledged it out loud. “I saw this hot guy driving down the street and dragged him with me because I knew it would piss you off. My ‘so-called music’ has nothing to do with him.”

Dad shook his head, his cold gaze flicking back to me. The sneer he gave Ilya remained firmly in place after his attention returned to me. “You had so much potential, Roan. It hurts to see how far you’ve fallen.”

“Well, you know me. I strive to be an epic disappointment in your eyes. Guess I finally succeeded at something.” I stepped past him and yanked open the front door.

I didn’t have to worry if Ilya was behind me; his footsteps shadowed mine the entire way to the car. If it was Sasha, I’m sure he would have laid my father out the second he opened his mouth. Thankfully, Ilya didn’t seem as hot tempered.

Shoving the bags in the backseat, I climbed into the front passenger side and slunk down. Arms crossed and eyes closed, I exhaled a shaky breath, wishing like hell I could teleport back to my bed and put this whole fucking day behind me.

“I can bring your car tomorrow,” Ilya said as we pulled out of the driveway, “so you don’t have to see him again.”

“Thanks. Sorry you had to see that.”

“Sorry you had to live with that.”

5

SASHA

PER MY INSTRUCTIONS, Ilya sent me a text as soon Roan was safely inside the building. According to him, there was nothing to report for his first day on the job.

Over dinner, however, I got the distinct feeling Ilya left out some very important details in his daily summary.

“You’re quiet,” I said, watching Roan push a piece of chicken around his plate like he had been for the past five minutes. I’m pretty sure if I reassembled all of the pieces, it would show he hadn’t actually eaten any of it. It was a painful reminder of the time I’d once held him hostage. He’d hardly eaten then, either, which meant he was once again under an equally large amount of stress. Not that he’d tell me.

“I’m tired.” He didn’t even bother looking up when he replied. He did look up when I reached for my cell phone, eyes widening. “What are you doing?”

“Asking Ilya what happened.”

“Oh my God. Nothing!” His fork clattered against his plate. He held his head in both hands for a moment before he dropped them, glaring at me from across the table. “I saw my dad. I’m officially kicked out of the house and now he wants the car back. Happy?”

I frowned at him. Of course I wasn’t fucking happy. What the hell kind of a question was that, anyway? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t have to tell you everything, Warden. And to be honest, I’m surprised my babysitter didn’t already fill you in.”

Frankly, I was surprised Ilya didn’t mention it either. Unless he didn’t think family conflict was worthy of mentioning. But when it came to Roan’s asshole father, I wanted to know everything. I hadn’t forgotten how willing Phillip Sinclair was to sacrifice his only son to save his own skin. Roan wanted him to pay — and pay he would, as soon as the time was right. My priority at the moment, however, was Roan. Until he was in a good place, I wasn’t concerned with punishing his father.

“It’s no problem,” I said with a shrug, slicing through my own chicken as calmly as possible, and ignoring that whole prison jab.

“It is a problem, Sasha,” he snapped back, his teeth on edge. “I need my car. I don’t just work in the city, remember? I have to have a way to get to the suburbs with all of my stuff.”

“I’ll buy you a car,” I replied evenly, laying my own fork down before I bent it. “See? No problem.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you buy me a car.”

“Why not?” I tried not to scowl, but I knew I failed when he made a face right back at me.

“Are you serious right now?!”

I cocked my head, trying to figure out why he wasn’t happier. He had a problem, I presented a solution. That should have alleviated his worry. But no. He still had to be a pain in my ass.

“It’s bad enough that I live here and you pay for” — he threw his arms wide, glancing around the apartment — “everything. You hired a fucking bodyguard. And now you want to buy me a car? What do I look like to you?!”

It was obviously a trick question, so I didn’t say anything.

As usual, my silence only seemed to infuriate him, but it was better than misspeaking altogether.

“I’m not your fucking rent boy!” He shoved away from the table, rattling the dishes. “But I guess I’m not even good enough for that anymore, am I?”

Rent boy? I furrowed my brows, tracking him as he stormed across the living room and disappeared down the hall. I might not have known what he was saying, specifically, but I had enough context clues to know what he was getting at. It was the last part that pissed me off the most, though.

I counted to one hundred — slowly — before sliding out of my chair and striding down the hallway to the guest room. With as pissed as he was, I highly doubted he would retreat to the master bedroom, a room that was our space. No, he’d want someplace that was his and his alone.

As I thought, Roan was at his desk, scribbling away on sheet music and doing something on his laptop with chords.

Making my way through the maze of instruments and stacks of sheet music, I spun his chair as I dropped to one knee in front of him. “Solnyshko.”

He huffed and threw his pencil down, his jaw clenched.

Wedging myself between his knees, I pulled him and the chair closer, draping my forearms across his thighs as I looked up at him. “Tell me how to make you happy.”

He snorted and shook his head, staring at his laptop instead of me.

“What?” I squeezed his hip pointedly.

His blue eyes slid back to mine, not the bright and shining color they used to be. Instead, they were cold. Hard. Not Roan.

“If I knew that, don’t you think I’d be fucking doing it?” he snapped. “Do you think I go see Dr. Adani every week for fun? Fuck!” He slammed his palm onto the desk. “That fucker probably canceled my insurance.”

“I’ll take—”

“Don’t you dare say you’ll take care of it!”

Biting my lower lip, I silenced myself before my tongue got the better of me. It’s like Misha said — no matter what he said, what he did, Roan was still healing. Adding my anger to the situation wouldn’t help him at all.

“I know what it’s like to have everything taken from you, to have nothing,” I said quietly, sliding my hands up to his waist. “But I have something now. I want to share it with you.”

His face softened, his shoulders rounding. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I am. Of course, I am. It just doesn’t seem like a fair arrangement — for you.”

I made a face before I could help it. That’s what he was so upset about? Some stupid measure of equity? “Life’s not fair, Roan. It’s never been fair.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? That you get nothing out of… whatever the fuck this is between us?”

“I get you.”

“Some prize that is.” He rolled his eyes.

I slipped my hands under his shirt as I spoke, skimming my palms across his skin and up his back. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t be a dick.” He put both hands on my chest, halting my lean forward. “And don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

His gaze darkened as a glare set in. “You know what. I don’t think I can handle another cold fucking shower. So unless you’re going to actually follow through this time, I have work to do.”

A soft glow on his desk caught my attention. It was another text, but no sound accompanied it, which meant his phone was obviously on silent. He reached for it a second too late. I snatched it off the desk and scanned the message.

“What the fuck, Sasha?!” He tried to reclaim it, but I planted my hand in the center of his chest and slammed him back into the chair.

Please tell me you’re on your way!

I angled the phone toward him, arching a brow. “Who the fuck is Samuel?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” He tried to push himself up, out of the chair, but I threw more weight behind the hand keeping him down. At this point, I wasn’t above bruising his goddamn sternum to get some answers.

“What the fuck did I tell you? You are mine. And if you think I’m going to let someone come in and steal you—”

“You’ll kill them? Go ahead! It’s not like I can fucking stop you!” The silver hoop flashed on the right side of his nose when his nostrils flared. His heart pounded beneath my flattened palm and each breath was shallow, as furious with me as I was with him. But why? Because he’d been caught?

“Who is he to you?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“A friend, you fucking Neanderthal. Or am I not allowed to have those?”

“Are you fucking him?”

“What would you do if I was?” His eyes locked on mine, every visible muscle in his face tight. “Kill me too? Go for it.”

Was that a goddamn admission?!

No. No, not Roan. He was too loyal. His heart was too pure. Not to mention, he wasn’t that good of a liar.

“If he touches you again, I’ll cut his fucking hands off,” I growled, flinging his phone on the desk.

“At least he wants to touch me,” he threw back, like a shock of ice water.

Lowering my face closer to his, I scrutinized each tic, each hard line, the way his breathing hadn’t slowed at all. My gaze dropped from his face, following the column of his throat, down his torso, landing on his groin before flicking back up to him. No surprise he was already getting hard. For some reason, fighting with me seemed to do that to him.

“Is that what you want?” I asked, grabbing his belt buckle and ripping it open. He didn’t try to stop me, but he certainly didn’t help, either.

Situating myself between his spread thighs, I didn’t let him answer. Shoving him back in the chair, I grabbed his jeans and jerked him forward into a reclined position. His cock strained beneath his clothes until I pulled them down, letting it spring free.

Gripping the base of his shaft, I dragged my tongue along the underside, tracing the vein to the top and flicking my tongue over that little ridge. His lips parted and a ragged breath escaped, but the light didn’t come back to his eyes the way I hoped it would. I kept my gaze locked on his as I swallowed the length of him, waiting to see… something. Some flicker of the old Roan.

Instead, he closed his eyes, shutting me out completely. He bit lip and gripped the arms of the chair, the rise and fall of his chest quickening. Unless he was getting laid somewhere else, I figured it wouldn’t take long for him to come, considering the fact we had been inactive in that department since — well, needless to say it had been a while.

This was by no means an ideal situation to rekindle that part of our relationship, but it was a start. I guess. If it made him happy, then fine.

What I hadn’t counted on, though, was his complete and utter detachment. Before he’d been so… intuitive, warm, connected. It was one of the many things I’d fallen for.

Now?

He’d turned to stone. He was cold, unyielding, uncaring. He was like me and I fucking hated it.

Still, I persisted in trying to make him happy with my mouth and my hand, as superficial as it was, until he jerked upright and pushed me away. Before I could ask what he was doing, he grabbed a cloth from his open violin case and came into it, instead of me. Even then, he was practically silent with only a few sharp breaths to even indicate what had happened.

“Better?” I didn’t mean to snarl the question, but that’s exactly how it came out.

He didn’t answer. Nor did he look at me. He simply tucked his dick into his pants and tossed the cloth into the trash can and spun back toward his sheet music.

Un-fucking-believable.

Rising to my feet, I kept my balled fists at my sides. Not happy not having sex. Not happy having it. I was at a fucking loss and he wasn’t helping sort any of this shit out. I couldn’t fucking fix it if he didn’t tell me how!

Shaking my head, I crossed the room for the door, pausing just outside of it. “When does he want the car back?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’ll take care of it.” That phrase may have been akin to lobbing a grenade into the fight, but I didn’t fucking care anymore. I tried to be “supportive” like his fucking therapist wanted and it got me no where.

He didn’t look up from his sheet music or acknowledge me in any way, but from the looks of it, every single muscle in his body had gone rigid.

I slammed the door shut behind me, hard enough Misha would probably feel it in his fucking penthouse. Exhaling a steadying breath, I marched back to the kitchen, swiping my keys and phone off the counter.

God help the sons of bitches I had a meeting with tonight.

6

ROAN

SITTING on the stiff charcoal couch, I folded my arms over my chest and stared at the arrangement of colorful glass balls piled into a giant bowl on the coffee table. They looked like old-fashioned buoys, something I saw one time at a maritime museum in New England. I’m sure each one cost a small fortune.

“You look angry,” Dr. Adani said quietly, shifting the pad of paper on the arm of her chair. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“Nope. This is my last session anyway, so I don’t know why I bothered coming. I guess just to tell you that.”

“Why is this your last session?” She tilted her head, kohl-lined eyes blinking serenely.

“Because after today I won’t have any fucking insurance, which means I can’t afford to keep coming here.”

“Has something happened?”

I snorted. “Yeah. My father. But isn’t that the answer for everything? Fucking daddy issues? Daddy or mommy, in my case. Take your pick. Both of mine are fucking worthless.”

“Have you talked to either of them?”

A dark smile surfaced, closer to a grimace than anything. “I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t going to be one of your success stories. My mother’s idea of bonding is shopping or a trip to a medi-spa. That’s not exactly going to un-fuck my brain. And don’t even get me started on my father.”

“Ok… What about Sasha?”

Fucking Sasha.

The fight from last night flashed through my brain, his snarl, the dangerous glint in his eyes. He was so fucking pissed when he saw my phone... He seriously thought I was cheating on him?! And for how long, exactly, did he have that suspicion? Was that the real reason he didn’t want anything to do with me? Not because he was afraid of hurting me but because he thought I was getting laid somewhere else?

Although, I had a hard time believing Sasha would sit back and let me fuck around with someone else when he threatened to cut Samuel’s hands off for simply touching me. Given what he’d done to other people, the threat was more than plausible.

Realizing Dr. Adani had asked a question I’d yet to answer, I cleared my throat. “What about him?”

“Do you ever talk to Sasha about what happened?”

That time I laughed. Bitterly. “Sasha and I don’t talk. We never have. And I highly doubt we ever will.”

“You don’t talk about anything?”

“No. Unless coordinating groceries and the dry cleaning pickup constitutes talking.”

“And yet you’re still together.”

“Yeah.” I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees and holding my head in my hands. As much as I hated feeling useless in our relationship, I was more dependent on Sasha now than ever before. Chicago was fucking expensive. What I’d managed to squirrel away in savings would be gone in the blink of an eye if I tried to move out on my own. Then again, Samuel mentioned he had a spare room, which would be a lot cheaper than renting a place on my own...

Yeah, no. That sure as hell wasn’t happening. If I told Sasha I was moving out, it would be the absolute end of everything. He would kill me for sure. And Samuel. And probably anyone else who came within twenty feet of him that day just because he was in a bad mood.

As mad as I was with how things were, I would never cheat on Sasha and certainly not with Samuel. Samuel was a friend, nothing more. I didn’t know (or care) if he was interested in me, but Sasha seemed to think so and it was easy fuel to throw on the fire when I was pissed. It was shitty of me, but I really didn’t care about that either. I wanted to get a rise out of him and I did. Mission accomplished. Congrats, Roan. You’re a fucking idiot. Push away the one person who has stuck around. Frankie went off to New York. Freddy off to grad school. And here I was, stuck in time and space, hating every minute of it.

Even with all of our problems, I wasn’t ready to walk away from Sasha — especially when none of this shit was his fault. But it seemed like no matter what I did, I couldn’t pull myself out of my own misery. I knew I was drowning both of us, yet there was nothing I could do to stop it.

At the end of the day, I wanted Sasha, like before. I wanted him to want me. I wanted to be seen as more than the personification of his guilt and failure and anger. I wanted the Wolf again — the man who did whatever he wanted with no regard for anyone else’s feelings. The one who could just as easily kill me as kiss me. I wanted the man who didn’t look at me like I was one of those fucking glass balls that was going to shatter into a thousand pieces if he so much as looked at me the wrong way, let alone touched me for longer than two seconds.

Dr. Adani let me sit in silence for a minute before trying a different tactic. “Have you reconsidered telling the police about the attack? Perhaps legal recourse would be good for you. It might give you closure.”

“I have closure,” I snapped, lifting my head to look at her. I had it because Sasha made sure every single one of them was dead. Painfully, as per my request. And yet the nightmares still came. The stench of their cologne, the putrid food in the dumpster, the smell of asphalt. The paralyzing feeling of being completely fucking powerless.

We’d only discussed what happened once and it was after a lot of vodka so the details were still kind of fuzzy. It wasn’t so much of a discussion as Sasha recounting what he did to each of them when I’d stupidly asked. For the millionth time, he told me it wasn’t my fault, that he had been their real target, which explained why there were four of them to begin with. I was a victim of opportunity. Instead of breaking into his apartment to take on the Wolf, they snatched his stupid pet off the street and defiled me to humiliate him. Two birds, one stone.

What he said made sense. One hundred percent. But I didn’t care. The “what ifs” continued to play out in my mind. What if I’d kept my ass inside like he told me to? What if they’d broken in anyway? What if he came home and was attacked too? What if he was killed? What if I never went back to him — not just the once at Delirium, but over and over? What if, when I escaped the first time, I stayed. The. Fuck. Away?!

Dr. Adani gave me a patient smile, like she could see all the bullshit rolling around in my head. “Do you? Have closure?”

“As much as I’m going to get.” I slumped against the couch. It’s not like I could tell her she was beating a dead horse. Even if the four of them weren’t rotting in Hell, the system had bigger problems to deal with than my attack. Women couldn’t get justice. Kids couldn’t get justice. Why the fuck should anyone care about a gay guy’s assault? Compared to what happened to some people, I got off fucking lucky. I knew that. I knew I should be grateful. But I wasn’t. I was fucking angry.

“How has your anxiety been?”

“Fine,” I muttered, letting my gaze drift back to the glass balls. I crossed my arms again, clenching my fists as soon as they were out of her view.

“Has Sasha said anything? Noticed any sort of difference?”

Scoffing, I shook my head. “I told you, Sasha and I don’t talk about shit like that. To be honest with you, I don’t even know why we’re still… a thing. I don’t even know what to call him. We hardly ever see each other anymore. Sex is out of the fucking question, except for the random blowjob yesterday. I’m pretty sure he only did it because I basically guilt tripped him into it. I mean, why the fuck are we together? What does he get from having me around? Nothing. Not one goddamn thing except a headache.”

“Love?” she said with a small smile.

“Yeah. Sure. Or it’s just part of the…” What was it Frankie had been blathering on about in her never-ending voicemails? She switched from riding my ass about Stockholm syndrome to… “Trauma bond? Or whatever.”

She nodded. “Something like this can certainly bring couples closer together, just like it can rip them apart. How is Sasha coping?”

My eyes rolled before I could stop them. If she ever met him, she’d understand how ridiculous that concept was. Sasha didn’t “cope” with anything, because Sasha wasn’t affected by anything. He was a fucking machine, a giant, killing machine. He “coped” by maiming and murdering and inflicting pain on whoever was within arm’s reach and he seemed perfectly content with that.

“What?” She gave me that soft blink again, her way of prompting me to go on without actually using the words.

“Beats the hell out of me,” I muttered with a shrug.

Dr. Adani sat up a little straighter, her dark eyes narrowed. “Beats the hell out of you?”

I tried really hard not to be exasperated with her, but it felt like we were going in circles today and I was so fucking over it.

“Roan, do you feel safe at home?”

Oh, shit... Now I know why she looked weird.

That was the wrong fucking phrase to use. Apparently I opened a can of worms that I highly doubted I’d be able to close again. “That’s not what I meant… It means, I don’t know how he’s dealing because he pretty much has two moods — angry and angrier. Used to be three, but we already covered that.”

She didn’t relax. At all. “You didn’t answer the question. Do you feel safe?”

“I don’t feel safe anywhere, hence the reason I’m here.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“No, I know what you’re asking. Do you honestly think Sasha hits me? Have I ever come in here with bruises? No. He won’t even touch me to have sex and you think he’s going to beat me?”

“I’m asking you if you feel safe around him.”

I ran my palms down my thighs, looking away from her scrutinizing gaze. “Yeah. I do.”

“You know I’m here for you,” she continued in a gentle, motherly voice. “There are resources if—”

“Jesus Christ! Do I look that fucking pathetic? I don’t need anyone to save me! Yeah, some shit happened. Clearly I’m a little fucked up over it. But you know what I learned? No one is coming to the rescue. No one. So I don’t need you or anyone else trying to swoop in now, now that it’s too fucking late.”

She didn’t even seem fazed by my outburst. I didn’t know if that was a result of her decades of professional experience or if I was just that pitiful. “What about Sasha?”

“What about him?!”

“Is it too late for him to save you?”

My lungs seized before she even finished asking her question. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was still reeling from the disappointment from that day. I’d built him up in my head to be this super human, this force to be reckoned with. My captor. My protector. The Wolf. He fought off that asshole once before, but when I needed him, actually needed him, he wasn’t there. And I… what? Blamed him? Blamed him for bringing me into his fucked-up world, for not knowing what evil his peers were capable of? For not stopping them? Did I blame him for all of that?

Yes, I did.

No, I didn’t.

No. It was still entirely my fault. Me. Mine. Not his.

I didn’t listen. I put myself in harm’s way. And I got what was coming. I deserved the punishment they doled out.

Sasha was a lot of things, but he wasn’t my guardian angel. He was supposed to be my… whatever the fuck he was. Even if he once declared his love for me in a room full of men waiting to kill us, even if he provided for every material comfort I had without question, without hesitation — it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to fix me or make me feel like the world wasn’t two seconds away from imploding. Because I was an ungrateful, selfish asshole. An epic failure. Just like my father said.

I’d lost so much in that alley. My dignity, my pride, my faith in everything. My sense of self was fucking obliterated to the point I didn’t even recognize myself when I looked in the mirror these days. I didn’t realize they’d taken Sasha from me too. No, not that day. Not even that week. Now, months later, when I should have been fucking over it. We might have been the only two remaining, but the four of them stood between us regardless.

Heat flared in my cheeks, so intense I could feel perspiration beading on my forehead. Nausea twisted my stomach, accompanied by a sudden rush of bile up the back of my throat.

“I have to go,” I said, getting to my feet.

“Roan. Wait!”

I didn’t stop. I had to get the fuck out of there before I did end up cracking like one of those glass balls.

7

SASHA

THE NEXT MORNING, I picked Eduard up well before Roan’s asshole father set off for his precious bank. He wanted his car back? I’d give him his fucking car back. With pleasure.

“What the fuck?” Eduard said, climbing up into the cab of a flatbed truck. “Where’s your Mercedes?”

“Morning.” I handed him a cup of tea, blatantly ignoring his question.

He took it and settled into the seat, furrowing his brows. Stealing a glance through the back window at the heap of metal, I saw him make a weird face in my peripheral vision. “What the fuck are we doing? What is all that shit?”

“Just running a quick errand,” I replied, heading northward.

He chuckled, taking a tentative sip of his tea. “Ok. Be difficult. Will you at least tell me where the fuck we’re going with this thing?”

“Highland Park.”

He turned halfway in his seat. “Isn’t that where—”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck? That is a terrible idea! Of all the shit you’ve gotten me into over the years, this is the dumbest. He’s going to take one look at you and call the fucking cops.”

“He’s not going to call the cops.”

“How can you be so sure? We robbed his fucking bank, Sasha. We kidnapped his son. And now you want to drive up to the house in this piece of shit with a pile of scrap on the back?”

While he squawked like a hen, I fished a cigarette out of the pack I’d tossed on the dashboard. Lighting it with one hand, I flipped the lighter back on the dash, too. I exhaled a stream of smoke instead of answering.

He huffed, clearly recognizing the move for what it was. “This kid has really fucked you in the head. You know that?”

Blowing another stream of smoke out the cracked window, I sliced a glare in his direction. He had no idea how fucking true that was.

My gaze dropped to the hand on the steering wheel. The knuckles were scraped and bruised, along with a couple cuts from some teeth. It should have hurt, but I didn’t feel anything except a vague tightness whenever I made a fist.

After the fight with Roan, I took out my aggression on an Italian trying to edge in on Sergei’s territory. Misha told me to send a message, so I did. Happily.

We drove straight into their turf, to one of the restaurants that served as their gathering spots. It’s also where they parceled out drug shipments to their various dealers.

I booted open the front door of Fredo’s Place and made a beeline for my target. He pulled a gun from his waistband and got off one round, missing wildly in his surprise. I swatted the gun out of his hand and choke-slammed him onto the floor.

While Valery and Maxim subdued the rest of the Italians, I took their leader apart piece by piece and ran the chunks through the industrial meat grinder. Little Angelo, which was a stupid nickname considering how much fat I had to cut off, ended up in a massive container, mixed with ground beef. By tonight, he’d be in the bellies of countless people. Unless they scrapped the entire bin. Either way they were out a lot of money and a greedy underboss.

I was still seething by the time I got home. Since killing Angelo didn’t do the trick, Roan’s car was next. His father merely said he wanted it returned — I didn’t hear anything about what condition it had to be in. So fuck him. I caved in every panel I could, shattered all of the glass, and ripped off whatever wasn’t welded in place with a fucking fire axe. Then I called Anton’s cousin to finish the job for me with a cutting torch. I wasn’t in a better mood by the time I was done, but I was fucking exhausted, which was good enough.

“How is he?” Eduard’s voice softened, shocking me out of my bloody thoughts. I was surprised he even asked. Of course, he knew… but that didn’t mean we talked about Roan. Ever. Just like I didn’t discuss Eduard, or anyone at work, with Roan. As far as I was concerned, they occupied two entirely different worlds and that’s the way it was going to stay.

I made a noncommittal noise, conveniently taking another drag off the cigarette. It was such a loaded question, I didn’t know how to respond — not that Eduard truly cared either way. Outside of Roan, he was the closest thing I had to family, but that didn’t mean he gave a shit about my romantic life. Still, I hated I didn’t have a clear answer, even if it was just for myself.

How was Roan? Fucking awful. Not eating. Not sleeping, only to turn around and sleep for days at a time. Possibly cheating on me with some scrawny fucking hipster. Absolutely miserable leaving the apartment unless it had something to do with music. Picking fights with me over the most random shit, like how I put the goddamn eggs in the carton in the refrigerator. I didn’t think there was a “way” to do it, but apparently I’d been doing it wrong my entire life, so thank God Roan showed me the error of my ways. How did I ever survive without having the egg carton properly balanced?

And what was I doing to make his life easier? To help him get back to normal? Not a goddamn thing, except making it worse, apparently, even when I was simply trying to make him happy.

Eduard shook his head. “It’s not too late to find a woman, you know.”

Rolling my eyes, I flicked some ash out the window. “I don’t want a woman.”

“What about Daria?”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Don’t even fucking go there.”

Eduard shrugged. “You made it work once. You could make it work again.”

“That wasn’t a relationship, idiot. That was me fucking the princess on command whenever she felt like it.”

“You know, there are worse things in the world than being told to have sex with a beautiful woman.”

“Oh yeah?” I shot a pointed look his way. “What if I told you you had to have sex with a man? But don’t worry, he’s beautiful.”

I could feel his glare before he even started sputtering. “Th—that is different! One is natural and the other is…” He shook his head, too flustered to even say it. “Ok, fine. Not her. What about someone else? Sveta or Mila. Someone who can cook for you. Take care of you.”

“I can cook for myself. And do we really need to have a conversation about this?”

“I don’t understand, Sasha. He’s a man. Not even a man. A boy. Like a little bunny. What is appealing about that? If you squeeze him too hard, his head will pop off.”

If looks could kill, the look I sent Eduard’s way would have skewered him on the spot. If he was anyone else, I would have knocked his goddamn teeth out. Roan wasn’t as fragile as Eduard was implying, but there was no way in hell I was going to get into that with him.

“I will never understand you.” Eduard shook his head before taking a sip of his tea and turning his attention out the window.

“That makes two of us,” I muttered.

When we pulled up in front of the Sinclairs’ mansion, Eduard swallowed. I ignored his sudden alertness, backing the flatbed into the middle of the driveway and parking it.

“This is a terrible idea,” he said again, like I didn’t hear the first time.

“You’ll be gone before they even know what’s going on.”

I left the engine running and strolled over to the garage doors. Knowing this idiot, he probably didn’t bother changing the code. Before I went breaking in, I punched in the numbers Roan had used only months ago.

The door slid up quietly, revealing Phillip Sinclair’s dark blue Porsche.

I knew when Eduard caught up by the small squeak behind me. Turning, I chuckled to see his mouth agape, staring at the car like the beauty she was.

“I get to drive that?” he asked, almost breathless.

“Straight to Anton’s cousin.” I tossed him the cloned key with a smirk. “Don’t scratch it.”

He grinned and slipped past me, easing himself down into the black leather seat. “Oh my God. It still smells new.”

“Have fun,” I said, closing the driver’s door and walking out of the garage.

In a matter of moments, the Porsche rolled backward, made a sharp U-turn in the driveway and sped off down the street.

As the garage door closed, I returned to the truck. Punching the button on the hydraulic system, I waited patiently while the top of the bed lifted. Slowly, a mountain of car parts and dented body panels spilled all over the driveway.

Unlike the garage door, this was bound to draw their attention, even in a gargantuan house, with all the metal clanging together.

Sure enough, the front door flew open. Phillip Sinclair himself ran outside, his petite wife Laurel rushing out behind him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Phillip shouted, his glare bouncing between me and the pile of junk in his driveway.

“Returning your car,” I replied with a smirk, lowering the empty bed back into place.

“My…” His attention shifted to the mound, probably searching for a sign I was lying. Except, Roan’s license plate was right there. Along with the grill, the silver Audi rings as clear as day. “You son of a bitch! Where is he?”

I cocked my head, watching him scour the area.

“Roan!” Phillip took a step forward, shouting at the row of sculpted trees in the front yard. “Get out here!”

Laurel tried to shush her husband while patting his back but he wrenched himself out of her hands, stalking forward to check the cab of the truck. Once he realized it was empty, Phillip stormed around the pile and came nose-to-nose with me. Or as close as he could, since I still had several centimeters on him.

God, I hoped he’d do something stupid. I was still in the mood to fucking break something and his face would be perfect.

“Where is he?” Phillip demanded, enunciating each word.

I sized him up pointedly, smirking. With a quick flick of my wrist, I tossed the Audi’s worthless keys up into the air. Pivoting on my heel, I headed for the driver’s door, not caring if Phillip caught them or not. Since I didn’t hear them hit the driveway, I assumed he did.

“Wait! Sir!” Laurel yelped, scurrying over. She shadowed me back to the truck, raising and lowering her hand several times like she was trying to decide if she wanted to try and physically restrain me. “Can I talk to you about Roan? Do you know where he is?”

Pausing momentarily, I turned toward her with a frown. Her question implied she didn’t. Which was strange. Even though I knew his relationship with his parents was strained, Roan still had more contact with her than his father. Or, at least, I thought he did. He said he did. But if the fucking texts with Samuel were anything to go by, I couldn’t really believe anything anymore.

“Is he ok?” Laurel asked. “He’s not returning my calls.”

She actually looked concerned. I could have told her he was fine, to give a worried mother some peace. Or I could have told her the truth, that no, he sure as hell was not ok. Maybe if she was a better mother, she would know that.

In the end, I opted to say nothing. For starters, it wasn’t my place. Secondly, I really didn’t give a fuck about making a spoiled suburban housewife feel better about her shitty parenting.

My gaze flashed past her head to Phillip, who was closing the distance on us quickly. “You go back and tell that son of—”

As soon as he opened his mouth, I climbed into the cab and slammed the door. Insulting his wife and his son in one breath? It took everything in me not to put a bullet through his fucking skull.

Somehow, I managed to put the truck in drive and leave without blood on my hands.

It was too bad Roan didn’t want him dead because I’d be more than happy to oblige him.

EASING INTO THE APARTMENT, I lingered near the door, listening for anything out of place.

Ilya said he’d dropped Roan off an hour ago after his appointment but Roan hadn’t answered any of my texts or phone calls. I figured he was still pissed. I knew I was, but at least I would answer my goddamn phone if he’d bothered reaching out.

The apartment was still and silent, with zero indication anyone was home. No TV. No music. A feeling of dread swirled in the pit of my stomach. Like before.

“Roan?”

A memory tried to surface as I walked deeper into the apartment, a damnable feeling of deja vu that I really didn’t want to fucking deal with at the moment.

Shoving it to the furthest recesses of my brain, I focused on my surroundings. Obviously the kitchen and living room were empty. Due to the assortment of coats and footwear by the door, it was impossible to tell if he’d gone out without Ilya.

I set my phone and keys on the kitchen island, next to Roan’s. I also unholstered all of my guns, per his fucking “rule,” before proceeding to the guest room.

It, too, was empty. His computer screen was black and I didn’t smell the familiar piney scent of the rosin he used on his bow. So he definitely hadn’t been in here yet.

Moving down the hall, I pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The blackout curtains were still closed. No surprise there. They were almost always shut, either because of my weird sleep schedule or when Roan didn’t get out of bed for days at a time.

After my eyes adjusted, I scanned the room. There wasn’t a Roan-sized lump on the bed, like I half-expected.

The only sound came from behind the bathroom door — the shower.

My heart rate dropped a bit. Exhaling a breath, I knocked, waiting for an answer.

Nothing.

I knocked louder. “Roan?”

Still, nothing.

Turning the handle, I gritted my teeth and prayed he didn’t lock it. I wasn’t above kicking in my own goddamn door, but I really didn’t want to.

Thankfully, it turned easily and the door swung open.

There was a split second of relief, followed by confusion.

Roan was in the shower, only he wasn’t showering. From his spot on the floor, with his forehead pressed against the glass, he looked like he’d crumpled where he stood. Why, I had no idea. I didn’t see any blood from the doorway.

Ripping open the glass door, I darted inside and knelt beside him, more concerned with him than the fact water was spraying all over my back. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Wincing, he turned his face even further from me, but it was too late. He couldn’t hide the red puffiness around his eyes, the blotches on his cheeks. It was the kind that only came from sobbing, crying so hard you burst your own blood vessels.

Another piece of my heart cracked off under the weight of his pain. The inability to fix him shattered it to dust.

Shifting forward, I wrapped my arms around his torso and pulled him against me. I buried my face in the curve of his shoulder and closed my eyes, holding him as tightly as I could.

He stiffened in my arms. At first I thought he was rejecting the comfort, the closeness, until I felt him tremble. Once it started, it didn’t stop. Each breath felt hitched, like he was suffocating himself in his silence, forcing himself not to make a sound.

Aside from one time in the hospital, Roan hadn’t cried in front of me. It was like he’d made it his mission to be “fine,” even if he was anything but. I could have asked him about it but he never gave me the impression he wanted to talk about what happened. He didn’t really talk about anything these days, let alone that. Once upon a time I begged God to make him shut the fuck up and now I was begging Him to make Roan a chatterbox again.

Laying a hand against the side of his face, I turned him toward me. He resisted, of course. At least that part of his personality hadn’t changed. Apparently he was a pain in the ass whether he was happy or not.

“Roan, look at me.”

He couldn’t fight forever. After a pointed minute of defiance, he yielded. Red speckles dotted the skin around his eyes, eyes he refused to let me look at directly. I got the feeling he picked a tattoo on my throat and locked onto it because he wouldn’t look anywhere else.

“Do I need to kill someone?” I asked quietly, running my thumb back and forth over his cheekbone.

He shook his head.

“Do I need to hurt someone?”

Another shake of the head.

“Not even just a little?” I lifted my brows innocently.

A short laugh, however stifled, escaped. Shaking his head again, he finally lifted his gaze. Despite the redness, his eyes were a brilliant blue behind the glassiness. They expressed feeling again, even if that feeling was anguish.

“That’s not the answer to everything,” he replied with a sniff.

“Why not?”

Rolling his eyes, he pulled out of my arms and stood slowly, turning the shower off. As he stepped out, he looked back, his brows furrowed like he was seeing me for the first time. “You’re soaked.”

Soaked was an understatement. Thank God I hadn’t stupidly come in here with my guns still on. Or my phone.

Roan offered me a hand, helping haul me up to my feet. My jeans didn’t have much bend to them to begin with, let alone when they were sopping wet.

I didn’t let go once I was upright. Instead, I pulled him to me again, running my fingers through his wet hair. He wrapped his arms around my waist and laced his fingers together in the small of my back, burying his face in my shoulder.

Violence may not have been the answer, but I wished like hell it was. If there was someone to hurt, someone to kill, then I could actually do something instead of nothing. I’d administered all of the justice I could on Roan’s behalf, but it wasn’t enough. The scars those fucking animals left were too deep and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

“I’m freezing,” he said after a minute, slipping out of my arms to grab a towel.

By the time I peeled off my wet clothes and dried off, Roan had disappeared again. No surprise, I found him in bed, buried beneath a pile of blankets, never mind the fact it was mid-morning. Curled into a ball, he faced the opposite side of the room, his hands tucked away where I couldn’t reach them.

I pulled on a pair of pajama pants and slid in next to him. He, too, was in pajamas, as well as my favorite Adidas hoodie. It was so old and faded and most of the lettering had flaked away from a million washes, but I loved seeing him in it. Whenever he wore it, or anything of mine, it was like he actually wanted me around. Although, with his current position, I got the feeling he wanted some space, so I didn’t try to hold him again.

“I took the car back,” I said quietly, laying on my side with my head propped in case he rolled over and wanted to, you know, talk.

Of course he didn’t say anything. I didn’t really expect him to, given our last “conversation” about the whole thing.

“Your father is an asshole,” I muttered. Not that he wasn’t aware, but I could officially say I hated the man now that I’d been in his presence for a whopping five minutes.

“Is he dead?” Roan asked, his voice hoarse.

I paused, trying to decide how my answer would impact him. Once upon a time, I could have told you how he’d respond to any given scenario. He was as predictable as the sun rising in the East. Steady, calm, confident. Now? Not a fucking clue. One minute he would be fine and the next he would turn sullen or lash out like a fucking viper.

“No…” I said after a moment. “Do you want him to be?”

“I don’t care.”

Even if he wasn’t looking at me, I still frowned. I could kill his father. I could easily kill him. All he had to do was say the word and Phillip would be dead within the hour. But once Roan was in a better mood, I knew he wouldn’t be too happy about it. So, sadly, Phillip Sinclair would live to see another day.

My cell phone rang from the other room. I glanced in that direction, but I didn’t make any motion to retrieve it. This was more important than whoever was calling. Even if this got me nowhere, at least I could say I tried, which is what the stupid pamphlet from the therapist said to do.

“Your phone,” Roan muttered.

“I hear it.”

“Then why aren’t you getting it?”

“I’m busy.”

“What if it’s Misha?”

“He’ll call back.”

“What if it’s Sergei?”

“He’ll call back.”

Roan rolled over halfway, peering over his shoulder. “I don’t want you getting in trouble with them.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that, Sasha.”

I looked at him sharply. The way he said my name, more like hissed it, made my jaw clench. So, this wasn’t going the way I thought it would. Perfect. Something else I apparently fucked up. What else was new?

The phone rang again.

When I didn’t move, he sat up, staring at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted horns. “Do you want me to die?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

He flung a hand toward the living room. “Your fucking phone!”

“It can fucking wait!” I reached for him, despite my rising voice — and temper. He jerked away with a disgusted look, like he was repulsed by the thought of me even touching him.

“When Misha calls, you answer,” Roan said, as if I’d somehow forgotten. “That was the deal. And if you piss him off, who do you think he’s going to come after? Not you. Me. They need you. They don’t need shit from me. I’m the fucking leverage to keep you in line. That’s why I’m still alive.”

“That’s not—”

He ripped back the covers and jumped out of bed, storming out of the room. I sat up and was halfway out of bed before I forced myself to stay put. My molars ground together so hard they were on the verge of cracking, but at least I didn’t fucking scream or rip the pillow in half.

Roan returned a moment later, flinging my phone onto the bed like a frisbee. I was honestly surprised he didn’t whip it at my face given his current attitude. “I might be new to the criminal underworld, but I’m not a fucking idiot, Sasha! So don’t sit there and try to tell me my life means anything to your bosses.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“They would,” he shot back. “Because it’s exactly what I would do. You forget — growing up, I got a front row seat on how to be a ruthless son of a bitch. I just chose not to be one and look how that fucking played out.”

I opened my mouth to reply and quickly shut it again, knowing nothing good would come of my observation.

It didn’t matter. He kept going. “Surprise! The golden boy isn’t all sunshine and fucking rainbows. Bet you didn’t realize that in all of your fucking surveillance. Regret kidnapping me yet?”

His anger cut through me like a knife, but I refused to acknowledge it. I’d never regret the way we met. I couldn’t. If I hadn’t kidnapped him, our paths would have never crossed. Not in a million lifetimes. Everything good that had happened since then was because of Roan. So, no. I refused to regret it.

My only regret was failing him, but admitting that would never happen either. It was my shame to bear, alone, in silence. He had enough on his shoulders, he didn’t need to hear me whine about my shortcomings or wish that it had been me instead of him. All I could do was be here now, be whatever he needed for however long he needed it, and hope to God he forgave me over time.

Scoffing, Roan shook his head, his nose wrinkled. The beautiful, expressive eyes I saw earlier were gone. They were dead now, cold and empty, as if my mere presence was offensive to him.

Without another word, he turned and drifted out of the room, like a fucking ghost.

I didn’t bother following him.

8

ROAN

THE FRANTIC POUNDING on the front door jerked me right out of Middle Earth and back to reality. I paused the movie and looked at the door but made no move to actually get off the couch. Sasha was gone, probably off torturing someone for fun, and I sure as shit wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Roan!” Fuck. It was Frankie.

So much for ignoring her and her bajillion texts and phone calls and video chats and DMs through every goddamn social media app known to man. I thought she’d get the hint I wasn’t in the mood to chat about random shit that didn’t fucking matter. Nor was I in the mood to talk about anything that did matter. But never in a million years did I think she’d get on a plane and come harass me in person.

“Open the fucking door!”

I groaned and slunk further down on the couch, squeezing my eyes shut. Maybe if I stayed like that long enough, she’d go away. Or security would hear her and drag her ass out.

“Sasha, you fucking asshole! Open the door!” She actually tried the handle a couple times before kicking the bottom of the door so hard it rattled in the frame. “Open this fucking door right now before I call the cops!”

Yeah, that was the last thing I, or Sasha, needed — more fucking cops poking around our lives. I didn’t hate them the way he did, but I’d had enough interaction with them over the past few months to want to steer clear for a while. Plus, Sasha would lose his shit if the cops got called to his apartment. Not to mention Misha would probably be equally livid. Then my homelessness would be almost guaranteed.

Summoning the enormous amount of energy required for physical activity, I forced myself to my feet. When I yanked the door open, she practically tumbled into the apartment, fists still poised for pounding.

“What?” I asked, leaning against the door.

“What? What?!” She straightened, her dark eyes flashing. “I haven’t seen you in months. You’re not answering the goddamn phone. And now, after I fly home from New York, all I get from you is ‘what’?!”

“Whatever.” I shook my head and ambled back to the couch, flopping into my preferred spot and pulling the blanket up over my shoulder. The movie resumed as Frankie stomped after me, screeching as loud as a Ringwraith.

“Oh, you did not just turn your back on me, Roan Sinclair!” Snatching the remote off the couch, she turned the TV off and flung it at the chair on the other side of the living room, well out of reach. “Did you hear me a second ago? I flew home from New York, for you! I thought I was going to come here and find you chained to a fucking radiator. Instead I see this. This shell of a human.” She gestured at me with a wrinkled nose.

“Fuck off, Frankie. I don’t need another lecture.”

Another lecture, like the one that pissed me off that day. The one where she told me Sasha brainwashed me and that our fucked-up relationship wasn’t real. She’d been so supportive about everything else in my life until that moment. When I wanted her to tell me I wasn’t fucking crazy for falling for the guy who kidnapped me, she told me I needed to see a goddamn shrink. True or not, I was so pissed by her betrayal I left the apartment. I left and walked straight into the hellstorm that was already on its way to me. Well, on its way to Sasha. They just found me first.

Did that mean I blamed her for what happened to me?

Yeah. I did.

Fuck.

No, I didn’t.

Again, it was on me. No matter what she said about me or Sasha, Frankie didn’t make me open that fucking door and leave the presumed safety of Sasha’s apartment. That was all on me. Because I couldn’t handle some criticism from the one person I actually cared about and I thought cared about me.

Frankie’s outraged gasp pulled me out of the fog of memories. Eyes wide, she recoiled, as if I’d slapped her. The shock didn’t last long. Surging forward, she ripped the blanket off and pointed at the hallway toward the bedrooms. “Get your fucking ass off the couch and into a shower! We’re leaving even if I have to drag you out of this goddamn apartment!”

“I already showered,” I retorted.

“Roan!”

“Fuck. Fine. Just shut up already. You’re giving me a fucking headache.” I pushed myself into a sitting position and hauled myself to my feet, trudging to the bedroom.

I exchanged Sasha’s hoodie for a henley and swapped my sweats for actual jeans. In the bathroom, all I did was spray on cologne and rake a hand through my hair before calling it good. I could have taken the time to use some paste on the crazy blond waves, but I didn’t care. I could have shaved, but again, I didn’t care. It wasn’t a work day, so I didn’t have to put in the fucking effort. And the sooner I went with her, the sooner she would leave, and the sooner I could come back to Middle Earth and my couch. Well, Sasha’s couch. My spot on Sasha’s couch. For however long he let my miserable ass hang around, like a leech.

Stalking back to the living room, I spread my hands, waiting for the next round of rebukes. “Happy now?”

“Fucking tickled.” She whipped my jacket at me. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Coffee, for starters. Maybe get some food in you since I doubt you’ve eaten today. And we’ll figure the rest out later.”

I didn’t have the energy or the desire to argue anymore.

Following her out of the apartment and down the elevator, we were almost in the clear until we hit the ground floor.

When the elevator doors slid open, Ilya of all fucking people was there. Blinking in surprise, he stole a quick glance at Frankie. Surprise, surprise. He lived in the building, too. I mean, Misha was his uncle. It made sense he’d let his nephew live in his luxe high rise. “Did I miss an appointment?”

“No,” I replied, trying not to snarl. “I’m going out.”

He looked at Frankie again, like he was trying to put his finger on where he knew her from. “Who are you?”

She glared at him. “Who the fuck are you? Another kidnapper, I presume?”

He actually smiled, returning his gaze to me. “Is Sasha going with you?”

“No,” I huffed. If it wasn’t one babysitter, it was another. Jesus Christ. Why didn’t they just microchip me like a goddamn dog? That way they knew where I was 24/7.

“Then where are we going?” Ilya asked, undeterred by the hostility radiating through the air.

“We are going out, away from anyone who sounds remotely fucking Russian.” Frankie grabbed my hand as she spoke. “You, whoever the fuck you are, are not invited.”

Ilya ignored the insult and raised his brows at me, silently asking for the real answer.

“Coffee shop around the corner,” I muttered.

He nodded and stepped aside, actually bowing and gesturing for Frankie to carry on.

“Asshole,” she hissed, jerking me forward. “You’re not a child. You don’t have to check in with him for God’s sake.”

“She says, as she’s literally dragging me around like a fucking child.”

I know she heard me, but surprisingly she left it alone.

Once we were outside, she linked her arm through mine, holding onto it with her other for good measure. What did she think I was going to do? Bolt at the first chance I got? I wish. I hadn’t run in... I don’t know. It could have been yesterday for all I knew, but it felt like a hundred years ago. My short-term memory was shit these days.

“What are you doing here, Frankie?” I asked, keeping my gaze on the people bustling down the sidewalk, the cars driving by, everything and anything except her.

“I told you, I wanted to make sure you were ok. How hard would it be to pick up your phone and answer a text?”

Hard. Excruciating. Impossible. All of my energy went into putting on a front for people at the theater, for Sasha. But even that was slipping. The only place I could pretend everything wasn’t falling to shit was at work. But work was also the most draining. As hard as it was, I’d be damned if I crumbled there. My professional reputation was on the line. It was the only thing I had left those monsters hadn’t ruined.

She didn’t ask any more questions until we were seated at the coffee shop. Sitting across from me, I couldn’t exactly avoid her big doe eyes and the concern creasing her brow. “Are you ok?”

I snorted, staring out the window next to us. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Ilya round the corner a moment later. He leaned against a building, texting on his phone. Probably tattling to Sasha. God forbid I have an unauthorized, unaccompanied voyage outside the compound. At any minute, I was sure a group of Russians were going to storm the place and drag me out. Actually, I wasn’t that opposed to it happening, mainly because I didn’t want to leave with her in the first place. If one of my imaginary rescuers threw me over their shoulder and carried me back to the couch, that was fine by me. I’d happily play the damsel in distress if it got me out of whatever conversation Frankie intended on having.

“I’m serious, Roan. You’ve never gone radio silent before.” She reached across the table and snagged my hand, squeezing it. “You know you can always talk to me.”

“Oh yeah? What should we talk about?” My gaze snapped to hers and I ripped my hand free. “You want to talk about my boyfriend? The one you fucking hate with a passion? You want to talk about the nightmares? How it hurts to fucking breathe sometimes? How there are days I wish I didn’t wake up? Please, tell me. What do you want to chat about? Let’s catch up. Tell me all about how wonderful New York is and how I’m a fucking idiot for not going to Georgetown.”

“My God, I haven’t seen you this pissed since you lost first chair in seventh grade.” She crossed her arms and flung herself back in her seat. “I forgot what an asshole you can be.”

“I learned from the best.”

“You’re better than your father, Roan. You always have been.”

“Whole lot of good it’s done me.”

“I’d say it has done you a lot of good, genius. You’re living your dream. It’s what you always wanted.”

“Yeah. Lucky me.” I glowered at the packets of sugar between us.

I was scrambling to secure more and more jobs because as soon as the show with Feodor was over, there was no guarantee I’d be hired on for the next project. No car. No place of my own. Living with a guy who can’t even hold my hand in public. My life was just stellar. Absolutely everything I dreamed about as a kid.

“I hate to rain on your pity party, but there are people out there who would kill to be where you are. And before you start in on me, yeah. I know you went through hell. I was there, remember? I know it hasn’t been easy for you. But when you’re not so fucking depressed, take a moment and get some perspective. Or keep letting this one thing define you.”

“Fuck you, Frankie. You don’t get to fly in here and tell me what I should be thinking or feeling. You don’t know the first fucking thing about it!”

“Fuck you too, Roan. You don’t get to self-destruct and expect me to sit by and not do something. I don’t care if your so-called boyfriend is ok with you trashing all of your relationships or fucking up all the good things you have going for you. Maybe if he knew you longer than a nanosecond, he’d see you’re fucking screaming for help.”

He did see. I know he did. I saw the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t with love and admiration like he used to. It was with a guarded wariness. Sadness. I was a disappointment to him. A regret. Worse, a mistake — even if he’d never fucking admit it. Goddamn Russian pride.

“Or maybe he doesn’t care,” Frankie continued, leaning forward and carrying on with her tirade. “Maybe he doesn’t give a shit about your feelings as long as he gets his rocks off. His own little boy toy to play with whenever the mood strikes. Is that it? Is he blackmailing you into all of this? Or do you still have some twisted sense of loyalty to him after he locked you in a fucking dog cage for a week?”

My eyes burned, signaling tears were on the horizon if I didn’t get a grip on the hurricane of emotions raging inside of me. “No, he’s not fucking blackmailing me. I don’t expect you to understand a single fucking thing about it, nor do I have to justify my relationship with him to you or anyone else.”

“No, you don’t. I’m just curious what you tell yourself. You could have anyone you wanted. Male. Female. You know you attract them all. And yet, you choose a guy who robbed a bank, kidnapped you, beat you, and nearly got you killed. Seems like a solid pick to me.”

I leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “I picked the guy who looked at me like I was the center of his goddamn world. The guy who was willing to die for me. And the only person who ever made me feel like I was worth a damn.”

“Looked? Was?” She arched a dark brow. “Listen to yourself.”

“I’ve had enough of your psychobabble bullshit to last a lifetime. I used the wrong tense. Fucking sue me.” I flung myself back in my chair, turning my attention out the window again.

Ilya was still there, actually talking on the phone now. He was smiling and it looked like he was laughing every once in a while, so I knew he wasn’t talking to Sasha. He didn’t tell Sasha about my dad or the car. And Sasha hadn’t stormed in here to get me as far away from Frankie as possible. So maybe Ilya was telling the truth. Maybe he wasn’t here just to spy on me.

Frankie sighed, her voice softening. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Could have fucking fooled me.”

“I’m worried. Ok? No, I don’t know what’s going on in your day-to-day life anymore. You shut everyone out. I get it. I can’t even imagine all the shit you’re dealing with. But what I do know is this — this person in front of me — isn’t you.”

“Hate to break it to you, but it is,” I snapped. “The asshole’s just been buried inside until now. Figured I’d give this personality a whirl and see where it gets me since the other one sure as shit didn’t work out.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes as she turned away. “Whatever, Roan. Just try not to fucking kill yourself along the way.”

9

ROAN

I SLID to a halt in front of the store like a mule, refusing to take one more step. “I am not going in there.”

“Come on,” Frankie whined, pulling on my hand like that would move me. I might not have been Sasha’s size, but to her I was, and there was no way in hell she was going to get me through the door.

After our fight in the coffee shop, Frankie switched gears and insisted we wander the city, doing all the shit we used to do as kids. I’d rather drown myself in Lake Michigan, but continuing to fight ate up whatever energy the coffee provided, so I went along with it.

It was easy to fall back into a familiar pattern with her, steering clear of sensitive topics by talking about people we knew, places we wanted to go, each of our prospective careers and random debates, like what type of jelly were you supposed to put on a PB & J — grape or strawberry.

For a brief moment, I forgot I was supposed to be miserable.

And then she pulled this shit.

“I’ll wait here,” I said, planting my feet and adopting a wider stance.

“No, you have to come with.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

I shook my head.

“Please?” She gave me her best puppy dog face, big eyes and pouty lower lip. She even whined for good measure. “Five minutes?”

Groaning, I let her drag me toward the sex shop. Stopping in the threshold, I threw a glance over my shoulder and locked eyes with Ilya.

He was across the street, squinting at the sign above the door. Even with the distance, I could make out the confusion written plainly on his face. Nevertheless, he gave me a thumbs up.

I immediately dreaded our next conversation. There would be a lot of explaining to do after this little excursion…

Frankie was sampling different flavored lubes when I caught up to her inside. The second I rounded the corner, she held her finger up in front of my face, something wet glistening on the tip. “What do you think of that one?”

“I’m not licking your finger,” I said, recoiling from the overwhelming coconut smell.

“They said it’s piña colada, but I think it tastes like sunscreen.” She moved down the row, grabbing a sealed bottle of peppermint lube and tossing it into the shopping basket. There was already a small assortment of things rolling around in there, even though I did my best not to look. “Can’t go wrong with mint.”

“Is there something you need to tell me?” I asked, trailing after her, trying not to touch — or be touched — by anything.

“Like what?”

“Like, you found a guy?”

She spun suddenly, staring at me with wide eyes and blinking a couple of times, like she was waiting for me to catch up. “This is for you, dumbass.”

My own eyes widened as I stole a glance around the mostly-empty store. It didn’t matter no one was in the vicinity, I leaned in anyway to hiss at her. “The fuck it isn’t! This was your idea. I don’t need any of this.”

She rolled her eyes and helped herself to an obscenely large, pitch-black dildo. “So it’s all systems go? You’re back to banging the criminal?”

“None of your fu—”

Frankie pointed the dildo at me, silencing my outraged response. “I call bullshit on whatever is about to come out of that pretty mouth. And as much as I might hate the asshole, I care about your asshole and I want it taken care of.”

“Oh my God…” Fucking kill me now. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the floor would open up and swallow me before she could embarrass me anymore. I thought the worst thing she would ever do was ask me for tips on giving better blowjobs. Apparently, I was wrong. Very wrong.

“I was reading up on different survivors’ stories,” Frankie continued, moving on to a much smaller, more reasonably sized penis, “and some people find toys easier to work with afterward. It’s supposed to help jumpstart… things. I mean, most of the literature is aimed at women, but I figure it more or less applies to guys too.”

“There’s more to sex than penetration, Frankie.” I blew out a sharp breath and crossed my arms over my chest. “And what gives you the impression I’m the bottom?”

She shot me an unimpressed look and bent a double-ended penis in half, letting one end spring up again. Even if it was fake, it still made my dick hurt just watching it. “Are you telling me that the walking definition of toxic masculinity lets you fuck him?”

The best response I could come up with was to glare at her.

“My point exactly.” She smiled smugly and waved a glass dick beneath my nose. “These are supposed to be smoother. And you can put them in the fridge. Adds to the experience, I guess.”

My stomach lurched violently. I shook my head, promptly looking away and trying to breathe. The air in my lungs refused to move — in, or out. In the blink of an eye, I was thrown back to a time and place I didn’t want to fucking be in, unable to turn off the video playing through my mind of the worst day of my life.

“Or stainless steel,” she said, unfazed by my lack of response and the fact I was about to have a breakdown three feet away from her.

As much as she was trying to help, all this little trip did was unleash a flood of memories. Painful ones that I didn’t want to ever think about, let alone in the middle of a fucking sex shop.

Without even looking, I grabbed the first non-glass or metal thing I could see and threw it in the basket so she’d stop talking. “There. Can we fucking go now?”

“Man, that is so bright. You won’t lose that in the dark,” she said with a laugh.

“Frankie!”

“Ok, we can go. Geez.” She headed toward the register, stopping to point out the cock rings. “Those can keep him from going in too deep. I mean. If that’s a problem. I don’t know. He could have a small dick. Would explain the anger issues. But you’ve got a bubbly butt, so I guess it’s gotta be long enough to, like, get in there.”

I snatched the basket out of her hand and darted toward the clerk, checking out as quickly as I could. The employee didn’t even look twice at me even though I was damn near hyperventilating in front of their cash register. They were probably used to people acting weird, given the environment.

Frankie was perusing the restraints when I rushed back down the aisle. Grabbing her by the arm, I hauled her toward the front of the store.

“You ok? You’re sweating.” She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair, fluffing it on my temple as I barreled through the door and inhaled a burst of exhaust-laden city air.

“I’m fine. I just have to go.”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“I said I’m fine, Frankie!”

She held her hands up defensively. “Ok, ok. I’ll get an Uber.”

Running a hand over my face, I turned away from her, exhaling a slow breath. My shirt clung uncomfortably to my body. I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my back, but I couldn’t stop pacing on the sidewalk.

I knew I shouldn’t have left. This would have never happened if I didn’t leave the couch. Just like it wouldn’t have happened if I listened to Sasha. Maybe. I don’t know.

Fuck!

I covered my mouth with one hand in case I puked.

Movement across the street brought my pacing to an abrupt halt. It was Ilya, playing Frogger through rush-hour traffic.

Before he reached my side of the street, Frankie snagged my sleeve and dragged me into the waiting car.

ILYA ARRIVED BACK at our building at nearly the exact same time we did. Hopping out of a taxi at the far end of the street, he sprinted down the sidewalk and slid to a halt right next to Frankie. He fell into step beside her at a casual pace, despite the fact his cheeks were flushed and he was breathing hard.

“Have fun shopping?” he asked, smirking at the bag.

She made a disgusted noise and shouldered past him to get through the door first. “Fucking stalker.”

Ilya shot a look a me, his eyebrows raised.

All I could do was roll my eyes in return. Unfortunately for him, her hatred of Sasha extended to all things Russian — including perfectly nice strangers who didn’t do a damn thing to her.

The three of us rode the elevator up in silence, exchanging looks every now and again, like we were waiting to see who would speak first. Frankie glared at Ilya in the mirrored doors. Ilya continued to smile and even waved at her reflection at one point. Meanwhile I studied the metal ceiling, wondering if I could crawl out through that little square door and hurl myself down the elevator shaft.

On the tenth floor, Ilya waited for Frankie to storm out first. He matched my pace as we followed her down the hall, letting her get out of earshot before speaking. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I replied automatically.

“I saw you,” he said pointedly. “Before you got into the car. You were not fine.”

Fuck, of course he saw that. He saw everything, just like Sasha.

I sighed softly, reining in my annoyance and focusing on the fact Ilya actually seemed to care. “No, I am fine. Really. Thank you. It was just a…”

“Panic attack?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It happens sometimes. It’s been a rough couple of months but it’s getting better. Sort of.”

He nodded without any hint of judgment or pity on his face. “I’m down the hall if you ever need anything.”

“Thanks.” I gave him a small smile and hurried after Frankie. She was leaning next to the apartment door, her arms crossed and a scowl back on her face.

“What the fuck did he want?”

“Just going over our schedule for tomorrow,” I said, fumbling in my pocket for my keys before finally jabbing one into the lock.

“I can’t believe you have a bodyguard now. Do you have any idea how crazy that it? It’s like you’re a prisoner all over again.” She waltzed into the apartment and shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it over the barstool at the kitchen island.

“I am well aware,” I muttered, following behind her and hanging her coat on a hook on the wall.

“So where is he?”

“Who?”

“Sasha.” She managed to say his name without hissing, so I guess that was an improvement.

“Work. I guess.”

“So he gets to know where you are 24/7, but you have no clue where he is? Sounds fair.”

Rolling my eyes, I disappeared down the hall with the stupid black bag from the sex store. I stashed it under the bed, behind a shoebox. Hopefully Sasha would be gone on garbage day so I could sneak it out of the damn apartment before he ever saw it.

When I came back to the living room, Frankie’d made herself at home on the couch with a bag of dill pickle-flavored chips. I was tempted to tell her they were Sasha’s, but I didn’t feel like cleaning up the mess when she inevitably sent the bag sailing.

“Uh, what are you doing?” I asked.

“Trying to find something to watch,” she replied, clicking through the channels before settling on some cake decorating show.

“How long were you planning on staying?”

She shrugged, crunching on another chip.

“You know Sasha lives here, right? Like, this is his apartment and I am just a guest?”

“Yeah. So?” She took a sip of water and blinked at me.

I sighed and dropped onto the opposite corner of the couch. “Whatever. I’m not mediating between the two of you, just so you know.”

“I’m not scared of him.”

I looked at her flatly. Sasha could pick her up with one hand and launch her off the balcony if he wanted to. Hell, he could do the same to me — he just needed two hands to balance out my height.

“That cake is going to be raw,” I said, turning my attention to the TV.

“I think they can make it.” She offered me the bag of chips without looking.

Shaking my head, I pushed the bag back toward her. “No way. She put too much liquor in the batter. It’s not going to have time to cook off. Should have just soaked it at the end.”

Frankie turned and eyed me with a furrowed brow. “You don’t bake. How do you know that?”

I folded my arms across my chest and shrugged. “Saw it on another show. Seemed like a good tip. Just kind of stuck in my head, I guess.”

“How much TV have you been watching lately?”

I shrugged again. It’s not like I was keeping track... But I had managed to binge three entire seasons of this particular baking show in the matter of one weekend. Between that, the movies, and whatever sport I happened to stumble across, I’d say the answer to her question was “a lot.”

Before she could comment, the front door opened.

My heart skipped a beat when Sasha and Valery walked through. I mean, I knew it would be him. Who else would it be? I just didn’t expect Valery to be with him.

Unlike his old crew, I didn’t know many of the people in Sasha’s new world. There was Misha, obviously, and Anton, Misha’s driver. A guy name Maxim showed up now and again, but he didn’t speak much English, so I didn’t know what his story was. Valery, on the other hand, spoke English very well and seemed over the moon with his new boss? Partner? I didn’t even know what the fucking dynamic was between him and Sasha. I just knew when they went out together, Sasha usually came home blitzed or covered in blood. Sometimes both.

Sasha stopped so quickly Valery ran into the back of him. He stumbled to the side, saying something in Russian to Sasha that might have been a question. Either Sasha didn’t hear, or he didn’t care, because he didn’t reply.

“Roan?” Sasha’s gaze slid from Frankie to me, leaving an icy trail in its wake.

“Look who came for a visit,” I said, trying to dredge up as much enthusiasm as I could for what was bound to become a fucking shit show.

Frankie lifted her hand in a stiff wave. At least all five fingers were accounted for.

Valery said something quietly, glancing at me every now and again. Sasha shook his head. Clearing his throat, he disappeared down the hall, leaving Valery standing in our foyer with his hands somehow shoved in the pockets of his tight-ass pants.

Sasha was still in a suit from earlier, but Valery looked like he was getting ready to go to a club — black pants that looked like they were painted on and a bright, patterned shirt you could see from a mile off. A thick silver chain around his neck and a matching one on his wrist completed the ensemble. He was hot. And fun, apparently. He could go out with Sasha and socialize and no one would look twice at them, except to comment how fucking hot they were together.

But me? Sasha wouldn’t let me step foot in Delirium. Or any other club in the city, for that matter. With or without him. So going out like an actual couple for drinks and whatnot? Not in the cards for me.

“Going out?” I asked Valery.

He tipped his chin up, like a nod, but cooler. Of course he couldn’t just nod like a normal human. I assumed it was the only answer I was going to get, since he looked away with a bored expression and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

A pang of jealousy shot through me. It didn’t matter that I didn’t like going to clubs. Even if the music sucked, it was way too fucking loud, and the drinks were overpriced, I still hated the idea that Valery was going to be out with Sasha until God fucking knew when, doing God fucking knew what. He had a freedom I’d never have and I hated him for it.

It was hard not to compare myself to him in every aspect. His dark hair and dark, smoldering eyes instead of my boring blond and blue. He was as tall as Sasha and nearly as built opposed to me — a few inches shorter, way less muscles, and zero tattoos. Russian badass versus American prep. Valery fit in Sasha’s world. I didn’t. I was kidding myself if I thought I ever would.

Sasha appeared shortly thereafter in a new outfit. Black shirt, unbuttoned, showing off both his broad chest and his tattoos. I tried to comfort myself with the fact it wasn’t entirely a sexual thing. After seeing this little peacock display enough times, I’d come to learn all of the tattoos were basically Sasha’s criminal resume. If you were stupid enough to even think about tangling with him, his ink was fair warning not to, kind of like a rattlesnake’s signature sound.

In addition to changing his shirt, Sasha switched to a pair of gray pants. They weren’t as tight as Valery’s but they didn’t leave much to the imagination, either. They were definitely going to a club. He didn’t wear shit like this to go torture people. Although, he did murder that one guy in Russia in a similar outfit. So, who the hell knew?

Sasha looked at Valery and tossed his head toward the door. Despite being told silently to get the fuck out, Valery lingered for a minute before he ultimately smirked and wandered back into the hallway. Sasha waited until his… friend was gone before turning to face the two of us with an arched eyebrow.

“Is this for business or pleasure?” I asked, trying my best not to sneer like a jilted housewife. Obviously I knew the answer, but I wanted to see what would actually come out of his mouth.

“I have a meeting,” he replied flatly before looking at Frankie. “Are you going to be here when I get back?”

She pretended to mull it over and shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. What time are you and your little fuck boy planning on coming back?”

“She’s not staying,” I interjected, silencing Sasha’s immediate snarl. Although, part of me was glad Frankie said it. At least I wasn’t the only one who thought Valery looked a little too good tonight and she didn’t even know him.

Sasha glared at her a moment longer before crossing toward my end of the couch. “Don’t wait up.” From the way the muscles in his neck tightened, I gathered he wanted to say more — do more — but he wouldn’t, even if it was only Frankie.

“I never do,” I replied, staring at the arm of the couch instead of him. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so fucking petulant with him, not right before he was literally walking out the door with another guy who looked like he was DTF at a moment’s notice. I should have been happier, smilier, something to give him a reason to want to come home, not stay out until the next morning and come back when he knew I’d finally be gone. Should have — but couldn’t. Because apparently I was trying to fuck up everything in my life, including this relationship.

Sasha clenched his fist so hard his knuckles cracked. Without another word, he spun on the ball of his foot and marched out the door. It wasn’t quite a slam, but it wasn’t gentle, either.

“Wow,” Frankie said, in a completely dry tone.

I hid my wince behind a growl, hoping she didn’t see it. “Don’t fucking start.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re going to.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“I said don’t start!”

“I can’t even ask about his friends?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Those are his by the way,” I said, looking pointedly at the bag of chips in her lap before trying to focus on the TV again.

She groaned and tossed the bag on the coffee table, dusting her hands off.

I was saved from further conversation by the inexperienced baker on the show. The three judges looked up from little piles of brown goo on their plates while the woman looked like she was two seconds away from bursting into tears. “I told you it was going to be raw.”

Out of nowhere a pillow smacked against my lap, followed by Frankie’s head. “Wanna take bets if that sugar sculpture is going to make it to the judging table?”

“I’m guessing it’s going down right after they move it.”

“I’ll give them until right before the judging table.”

She snuggled into my lap, yelling at the contestants on the TV as their cake wobbled precariously on the plywood.

I only partially paid attention to the TV, or Frankie. Even if he just left, my mind was too preoccupied with Sasha, wondering what he was doing and with whom. Then again, maybe I didn’t want to know the real answer. On top of everything else that had gone wrong in my life, losing Sasha was something I honestly didn’t know if I could bounce back from. I tried to tell myself things happened for a reason — from the kidnapping to that fucking alley. But what was the point of it all if he wound up breaking my heart in the end?

10

ROAN

THANKFULLY FRANKIE CALLED it quits after we reached the grand finale of the baking show. Since she was only in town for the weekend, she lamented about not having time to see me again. I had very important plans with the couch I really didn’t want to cancel, so it was fine by me.

“Remember,” she said in the doorway. “I am crazy enough to fly out here if you don’t answer me again.”

“Duly noted.”

“Are you going to be ok?”

“Fine. Why?”

The corner of her mouth quirked downward, but it was her eyes that bothered me the most. They reflected a special sort of sadness normally reserved for injured animals and homeless veterans. Actually, the more I thought about it, it was the way Sasha looked at me and I fucking hated it.

“You don’t want to miss your Uber,” I said, forcing a little more pep to my voice.

She stretched up on her toes and hugged me around my neck. “You can always come to New York if you want to.”

“Thanks.” There was no way in hell I was ever going to New York. Sasha could throw me out tomorrow and I still wouldn’t call her. I’d sleep in the Adler’s boiler room if I had to.

After she left, I tried watching TV to pass the time. I knew Sasha said not to wait up, but I couldn’t help it. Picturing him out with his “fuck boy,” whether it was true or not, left my stomach in knots.

I mean, I saw firsthand how hard it was for Sasha to accept who he was. But now that he had, did that mean he was looking to sow some more oats? He and Valery were together an awful lot, just like him and Misha. And Misha was gay. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility Valery could also be gay. Or bi. Or just into Sasha because Sasha was fucking gorgeous. Or—

Enough was enough.

Thinking about Sasha with another guy led my brain down a path that had me thinking about the black bag I’d stashed under the bed earlier. If I could convince him once and for all I was fine, then maybe he wouldn’t be inclined to look elsewhere for his... needs.

It was fucking insane, but maybe Frankie had a point.

In a sudden surge of confidence, I hopped off the couch and returned to the bedroom, unearthing my clandestine purchase.

Part of Sasha’s hesitancy, I’m sure, was fear of re-injuring me. Not that he would ever discuss it. So if I could show him it wasn’t an issue, then maybe things could start to get back to normal between us — whatever the hell normal was supposed to look like, anyway.

I shed my clothes and exhaled a breath, climbing into bed with a blue silicone substitute for what I really wanted. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I mean, I knew. Generally speaking. But thus far my masturbatory experiences hadn’t included anything in the realm of sex toys.

“This is so fucking weird,” I muttered, holding the blue penis lengthwise. Color aside, it wasn’t quite a replica of Sasha’s dick, but it was good enough for its intended purpose. I didn’t even care if I got off from it — I just wanted to know I could still have sex with Sasha the way we used to. The doctor might have assured me everything was “fine” and “normal” in that regard, but I was skeptical. And clearly so was Sasha.

Just remembering what sex used to be like turned my dick to fucking stone. God, I missed it. I missed him. His large hands, the scrape of his stubble, the heat from his body. It was so hot, literally and figuratively, and raw and unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I wanted it back, all of it, just like before.

I reached for the bottle of lube and coated myself and the dildo so it was ready if I decided to go through with it. The scent of watermelon filled the air and I swore, rolling the bottle over. Sure enough, it was the wrong fucking one. Of course. But it was too late now.

Giving my finger a tentatively lick, I shrugged. At least it tasted good. Some edible lubes were so artificial it was nauseating. I was just happy I didn’t grab the peppermint by mistake. That little surprise was all for Sasha… if he ever let me near his dick again.

Laying down, I closed my eyes and focused on my memories with him. I stroked myself in long, slow movements, making sure I was completely in control and aware of everything going on with my body. Blowing too early kind of defeated the purpose of this little experiment.

It was easy to lose myself in the past, remembering the feel of Sasha’s tongue, the sound of his breathing, the way his fingers dug into me to keep me close. I focused on his hands, the way he took care prepping me beforehand, how his long fingers felt curling inside, stroking and stretching.

Biting my lower lip, I grabbed the dildo and shifted my hips, so I was more or less laying on my side. The position was new and sort of awkward, but it seemed like it would be the easiest way to maneuver it without accidentally impaling myself.

Picking up my memories where I put them on pause, I swallowed thickly and slipped the toy between my asscheeks, positioning the head at the hole.

Sitting up suddenly, I grabbed the bottle of lube and added more — more to the toy, more to me, more to my hands. It was a good thing I put a towel down. Sasha would be pissed if I ruined the sheets. Maybe I should have done this in the shower. Or the floor. Or not at all because it was a terrible fucking idea and—

“Shut up,” I hissed at myself and laid down again.

I could do this. I knew I could. It was just a fake blue penis. Nothing scary at all about that. Laughable, sure. But not scary. More importantly, I was in total control.

When I exhaled again, I pushed the head inside slowly. It didn’t get far. I consciously relaxed my entire body and took another breath. It was fine. This part was normal. Right? There was always resistance.

Nope. Not happening.

I set the dildo aside and opted to start even smaller — just a finger. That should be a cake walk.

Reaching behind me, I ran a hand down my asscheek, squeezing it the way Sasha would. I skimmed my palm over it, along the crease, making my way to the hole. Spreading lube around the rim in slow circles, I teased myself until I felt my body relax and then pressed my finger against the opening.

A faint burning accompanied the intrusion, but it wasn’t outright pain, which I considered a fucking victory. As far as I could tell from my limited reach, everything felt normal, but Sasha would know more than I would.

Sliding my finger out most of the way, I closed my eyes and pushed it back in, deeper than the first time. A few more strokes and the burning vanished entirely, replaced by a pleasurable pressure. I kept the rhythm slow and steady, giving attention to my cock again in equally languid movements.

If I tried hard enough, I could imagine everything I was doing was actually Sasha. I could smell his cologne mixed with the wintergreen gum he always chewed. Then there was the intense heat of his hand, the roughness of his palm caressing the curve of my ass.

My eyes flew open and I nearly died from mortification on the spot. “Sasha!”

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowed. He didn’t sound pissed, but his attention was clearly on the blue penis laying where he normally would.

“I, um…” Fuck! Please, God, let me die right here and now. “I thought you left for the night.”

“Change of plans.” He bit his lips and leaned across me. I reached for the dildo at the same time, but he got there first, snatching it off the bed and raising a black brow at it.

“It’s not what you think,” I said pitifully.

He shot me an annoyed look. “It’s not a blue cock?”

“No. I mean, yes. It is. But it was just to… test the waters, so to speak.”

“So you’re not replacing me with this?” His mouth turned down at the corners as he studied it, more thoughtful and less pissed than I would have expected.

“Replacing you?” I stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“I don’t kid.”

I snorted. “I know.” Plucking the dildo out of his hands, I slid forward and pressed my lips to his. “I was doing this for you,” I murmured as I pulled away, resting my forehead against his.

He ran both hands through my hair and held onto the side of my head gently. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” I tilted my head back so I could look at him. “I want you. And if things went ok with that” — I nodded to the toy — “then you can’t keep telling me ‘no.’”

“Oh, is that so?” He raised both brows at me, like I’d challenged him.

“Yeah. Rule #4. Sex is a mutual decision, whether we’re having it or not having it.”

It was his turn to snort and roll his eyes. “You and your fucking rules.” He did, however, take that moment to unholster a gun from the small of his back. Setting it on the nightstand, he retrieved the second one on the other side and the third from his ankle.

Smirking, I reclined in the pillows again and resumed stroking my dick before I lost the hard-on entirely thanks to the interruption. “If you’re going to stay, then lose the clothes too.”

His gaze raked across me, lingering in all his favorite places — my eyes, mouth, abs. Dick, obviously. Unbuttoning his shirt, he watched me stroke myself with a look I hadn’t seen in months — unbridled lust.

As soon as the last stitch of clothing was gone, he pounced. Attacking my mouth with his, he kissed me hard and deep, his cock rubbing against mine eagerly. My mouth was tingling from the wintergreen by the time he moved southward, kissing and biting my neck and chest. It felt like his tongue and teeth marked every inch of me as he slid downward, finally sucking my cock into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” The tingling from his gum was now all over my dick in the best way possible.

He didn’t stop at my dick, though. After a few minutes, he popped off and angled my hips upward, shoving a pillow beneath me. I thought he was just adjusting his position when he proved me absolutely wrong.

The flat of his tongue pressed against my hole, flooding my entire body with more than minty tingles. Every nerve ending was on fire and I gasped like an idiot. He groaned against me, the vibration only adding to the foreign and fucking fantastic feeling.

No matter how much I squirmed or jerked involuntarily, his tongue kept moving — swirling, licking, tentatively probing. I gripped the sheet before I floated away into outer space. “Fuck, Sasha. That feels so fucking good.”

He dragged his tongue from my hole, up over my balls, and back to my cock.

“You’re going to make me come if you keep that up,” I groaned, running my fingers through the longer part of his hair on top.

“Good.” He kissed his way downward again, licking and kissing between my cheeks while his finger traced small circles around the rim. Pushing in slowly, he stopped after just a second, letting me breathe while he kissed along the length of my shaft.

The rest of his finger pressed inward, gently twirling and stretching along the inside. He didn’t stop the attention he was lavishing on my dick, working my ass and cock in slow, tortuous tandem.

“I’m good,” I panted, pressing myself down against his hand, torn between wanting the immediate release and wanting to see this experiment through.

At my word, he slipped his finger out and slid two inside, as agonizingly slow as the first time. I knew I couldn’t rush it, but he was fucking killing me. I wanted to get past all of the fear and apprehension of the unknown and get back to feeling normal.

The way his fingers worked inside of me was comforting as much as it was a turn on. He hadn’t suddenly changed his technique on me. I could pretend this was just my first time — instead of my first time since then.

Except, he went and withdrew his fingers and replaced it with his tongue again and that sure as shit didn’t happen before. I don’t know what compelled him to do it, but I wasn’t about to complain — only when the warm, wet persistence of his tongue vanished.

He shifted up onto his knees and reached for the bottle of lube. Instead of smearing it all over himself, though, he coated the dildo with it again.

I furrowed my brows at him. “What are you doing?”

“Testing the waters,” he murmured, dragging the tip of the toy along my crease and circling my hole.

Exhaling, I focused on the feeling of Sasha caressing my thigh instead of waiting for the burn to start all over again.

“Look at me,” he said, the barest pressure against the opening.

I did as he told me, locking onto his pale blue gaze. A moment later, his hand stilled on my leg and the pressure against my hole increased. I drew in a sharp breath, willing my body to relax.

“Breathe... Good boy,” Sasha said, his free hand roaming across my skin again, rubbing my leg and caressing my abdomen. “You’re doing so good.”

The pressure continued slowly until it breached the tight ring of muscle, twisting gently as it went deeper.

Biting my lower lip, I made myself inhale and exhale over a four-count, concentrating on the sharp angles of Sasha’s face, how fucking turned on he looked.

“Fuck, just look at you.” He pulled his gaze away, pointedly letting it sweep over me. Instead of my dick getting all the attention this time, he zeroed in on my ass as he pushed more of the toy inside. “So incredible.”

I whimpered my acknowledgment of his praise, pressing my hips downward to try and help the silicone slide in further.

Before I knew it, it was in all the way. Sasha exhaled an awed breath and ran both hands up and down my thighs. “Fuck me. You look so fucking good.” He climbed up next to me and laid down, holding the side of my face while kissing me gently.

His mouth was a welcome distraction from the burning, stretching feeling. I seized his face with both hands and crushed his mouth to mine, suddenly needing to remind myself where I was, who I was with, that this was all a fucking choice. My choice.

He ran his hand down my body, gripping the toy again. Despite my ravenous kissing, he managed to pull it out slowly, halfway, before pushing it in again.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth. Sasha immediately froze in place.

“No, no. Keep going.”

“I don’t—”

I pressed my lips to his at the same time I gripped the base of his dick. He inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away. Instead, he thrust into my palm, matching the rhythm of the dildo.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, punctuating each word with a kiss.

I nodded, panting out a “Yes” a second later, in case he was waiting for a verbal acknowledgment of some sort before I kissed him again. His tongue caressed mine, teasing my mouth before he sealed his lips to mine and plunged it in deeper, like the toy.

Pulling away with a gasp for air, I finally stole a glance downward at myself. Just like watching him jerk me off, I watched him piston the toy in and out, mesmerized by the sight of his tattooed hand working to pleasure me. It was unreal. Our whole relationship was unreal, that someone like him could care about someone like me. That someone like him could make me feel the things I did — physically and emotionally.

“Sasha…” I squeezed my eyes shut as all of the heat in my body gathered in my lower abdomen. “I’m going to fucking come…”

“Yes,” he breathed against my ear a second before he spit. I didn’t have to wonder where it went because his other hand wrapped around my cock, sliding up and down easily. “Come on, baby. Let go. I want you to. I want you to feel good.”

He increased the friction on my cock, thrusting quicker with the dildo. As soon as the head of the toy pushed along my prostate, I was done for.

“Fuck!” The orgasm exploded along my lower spine and shot out all over my bare torso.

I couldn’t see.

I couldn’t fucking breathe.

Forcing myself to swallow, I gulped in oxygen and willed myself to open my eyes. It was dark, but there was enough light from the hall to show it was clearly our bedroom. And Sasha was right there, stroking my cheek and pressing kisses to my temple and the side of my head, anywhere within reach.

“You did so good, baby. Better than good. You were amazing.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but the only thing that came out was a pathetic squeak. A rush of tears sprang to my eyes and I rolled closer to him, hiding my face against the side of his neck.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against him as tightly as he could. Shushing me, he stroked my hair with one hand, the fingers of the other digging into my back, like an anchor.

“I’ve got you, Solnyshko. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

My cheeks burned and I squeezed my eyes shut, screaming at myself silently to get a fucking grip.

“You’re safe,” he whispered against my hair. “Just breathe, baby.”

I nodded, sniffing back the next round of embarrassment and trying to actually inhale without choking myself. What in the ever loving fuck was my problem?! This is what I wanted. Sort of. I wanted Sasha. And my so-called experiment was a success. So why the fuck was I crying like a goddamn idiot?

Sasha pulled back slightly to look at me, his brows drawn together. He swept his thumb under my eye, brushing away the tears. “Let’s go shower,” is what came out of his mouth but the look in his eyes said something else. Maybe he didn’t think I was a mistake after all. Even though I’d been irrevocably damaged, I was still worth something to him. Maybe it was love, like Dr. Adani said.

11

SASHA

“WHAT ARE WE DOING?” Roan asked, reaching for the tie I used to blindfold him. “Where are we? Is this the garage?”

“I have a surprise for you,” I said, slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch!”

“If we’re in the garage, this better not be what I think it is.”

“What do you think it is?”

“You bought me a car.”

“I did not buy you a car.” I smiled smugly to myself, grabbing him by both biceps and pulling him to a halt when he was in the perfect spot.

His father’s dark blue Porsche sat before us, complete with new plates and a new VIN, courtesy of Anton’s cousin’s shop. Reaching under the wheel well, I grabbed the key from the magnetic holder Eduard stuck it on and stepped back to Roan’s side.

“Ok, now you can look,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.

He tugged the tie off and blinked a couple times. Once he registered what we were standing in front of, his brilliant blue eyes quadrupled in size. “Sasha!”

“All yours,” I said with a smile, holding the key out to him.

“You stole my dad’s car?!”

“You need a car and since I couldn’t buy you one... what was I supposed to do?” I shrugged nonchalantly. “This seemed like the obvious solution.”

“That is so not the point!” The color drained from his face and he swallowed thickly. “Does he know you it was you? You know he’ll call the cops. It’s probably already in the system as stolen.”

“I took care of it.” I caught his face between my hands and leaned down, brushing my nose against his, hoping to quell the panic before it reached its peak.

“But, I—”

“No ‘buts’!” I feigned a scowl.

The glare he gave me in return was quite real. “You’re not funny.”

“No?” I slid my hands around his waist and pulled him closer, until he was flush with my chest. Pressing kisses to the side of his neck and up the side of his jaw, I tried to soak in as much of him as I could — the summery scent of his cologne, his body heat, his overall closeness. He’d been distant for so long, it was like experiencing him for the first time and I couldn’t get enough.

His frown cracked, lifting one side of his mouth into a smirk. “I can’t believe you stole my dad’s car.”

“Why? It’s not like it’s hard. Do you want me to show you?” He shot me a surprised look, followed by an exasperated one. “What’s with the look? I wasn’t always a killer, you know. Stealing is how I got my start.”

“Really?”

I nodded, kissing his neck again and grazing my teeth along his skin. Enjoying this rare moment of happiness was far more important than arguing about the morality of stealing a car from a man who’d done far worse.

“So, how did you, um, switch? To what you do now?”

“What do you mean how? I just started killing people.”

He pulled back, giving me another frown. “But why?”

“It’s easy. Easier than stealing cars, anyway.” Judging from the way his eyes widened, I probably should have found another way to phrase it, but it was true. Pulling a trigger was easy. It required zero thought and little effort, unlike other forms of crime. Plus, I was good at it. Maybe the only thing I was good at.

“Would you ever stop?” The second after he asked the question, he swallowed. His gaze darted around my face, like he was watching for some sort of sign or reaction.

I honestly hadn’t thought about it. Much like the effects of smoking (in spite of Roan’s constant complaining about how many cigarettes I went through in a day), I figured I’d be dead before I had to sort out the consequences.

Furrowing my brows, I touched his cheek lightly. “Are you asking me to?”

“No…” If his guilty expression was anything to go by, he’d at least mulled the question over before. “I just... I don’t know. I didn’t know if you thought about doing something else.”

Both of my brows went up. “Like what?”

He scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight to his back foot. “I don’t know. Anything? Something that doesn’t involve, you know... So much blood?”

“Would you prefer I become a banker, like your father? Or perhaps a miner, like mine? His job was just as filthy, you know. Honest but filthy.”

“Your dad was a miner?” A soft smile stretched across his face.

“Until he died.”

Like the clouds covering the sun, the smile was gone. “Oh... I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I blinked, trying to make sense of the sudden change.

“Because?” He must have mistaken my puzzled frown for an invitation to keep talking. “You never talk about your family. Like, ever. I didn’t know if it was a sore subject.”

I shrugged. “I don’t have a family so there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Well, you did. At one point,” he said with a small shrug of his own. “Have you ever tried looking for them?”

“No.”

He flinched at my curt reply. “Why not?”

Stifling a sigh, I seriously regretted mentioning anything about my father. It was not a sore subject; it was a boring one. “It’s better to look forward than look back. Besides, those people? If they’re even still alive, they’re strangers.”

Nodding, he chewed on his lower lip. His gaze drifted down to my chest as he traced his fingertip over the shadow of one of my tattoos, barely visible beneath my white t-shirt.

“Ask,” I sighed. “You know you want to.”

His blue gaze jumped back to mine. “How did you end up separated from them, anyway?”

“That’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

Blowing out a breath, I glanced away for a moment, more annoyed with myself for bringing it up than him for asking questions. It was bound to come up in conversation sooner or later. I’d just hoped it would be later. Much, much later. “When my father died in Verkhoyansk, my mother took my sister and I back to Moscow.

“You don’t know what Russia was like back then. It was dangerous. Unstable. Money meant nothing. Some people made millions in the new Federation, while many starved or froze to death. People were kidnapped and killed everyday it seemed. You had two options: adapt or die. You’ll do whatever you have to, even if that means stabbing a man twice your age for a can of soup.” I smirked at the recognition in his eyes. “Like I said, no wolves involved in that story.”

“So how did you get to America?”

“A man named Kazimir Belov used people’s desperation to recruit soldiers for his brigade. Working for him meant food, clothes. Survival. I didn’t think twice about helping him. I’d deliver messages, steal, whatever he asked me to.

“When his brother moved to America to expand their business, he demanded to have a brigade of his own. Kazimir didn’t ask that time. A group of us were rounded up, like cattle, and sent overseas. Kazimir continued to control things in Russia, while Viktor handled things in America.” Roan’s eyes widened and I nodded. “Yes. That Viktor.”

“What about your mom? Your sister?” he asked quietly, almost like he was afraid of the answer. He needn’t be, especially since I didn’t have one to give.

“I haven’t seen or heard from them in over twenty years. They’re probably dead.”

“Don’t you want to know for sure?”

“No. I don’t. The answer doesn’t change anything, so why am I going to trouble myself trying to find it?”

For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something. The crease between his brows deepened and he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. Instead of asking a question, he threaded his fingers through mine and trudged back toward the elevators.

Roan’s quietness was understandable. Knowing him, he was probably trying to wrap his head around everything he’d just learned. Obvious cultural differences aside, I was fully aware how strange my life must seem to someone like him. At least for now, I hoped it was enough to appease his curiosity before he came back with more questions. There was no need for him to learn every horror all at once.

In the elevator, I punched the button for the lobby.

“Mail,” I said when Roan looked up at me with a silent question.

He nodded, his gaze drifting away again while his grip tightened on mine.

When we reached the ground floor, I squeezed his hand before letting go. Safe as we may have been under Misha’s protection, I still didn’t want to press my luck by flouting Sergei’s one rule for me — discretion. I had carte blanche to do whatever else I wanted, except publicly acknowledge I was in love with the man next to me.

When we stepped out, Roan drifted off to the side, on his phone again, while I headed to the mailboxes. It was a stack of the usual shit, along with a large, heavy envelope on the bottom.

I pulled that out first, arching a brow at the swirling calligraphy on the front. It was addressed to Roan.

“Something for you,” I said, handing it to him.

His brows dipped as he took the envelope and turned it over. Other than the purple wax seal, there wasn’t anything to indicate who sent it. He slipped a finger underneath the flap and opened it, pulling out the contents of the envelope — a thick piece of paper with even more swirls and flourishes.

“It’s an invitation,” he said as he skimmed it. A smile took over his whole face, erasing any prior confusion. “Oh my God! It’s from Bennett! It’s for his charity masquerade.”

He was still smiling, even after the announcement. I had to steal and repaper a fucking Porsche to get him to smile and one measly letter has him practically jumping out of his shoes? Because it’s from Bennett?!

“Who the fuck is Bennett?”

“Uh, it’s complicated. He’s like a friend, I guess.” He finally looked up, beaming, and swatted my arm with the elaborate invitation. It even smelled expensive, wafting a foreign cologne over me with the motion. I hated it. I hated this unknown person. And I hated whatever fucking party he was throwing.

“This is going to be awesome,” Roan said brightly, reading it over again. He all but floated into the elevator, humming a cheerful arrangement for the first time in weeks. His contemplative mood was gone, just like that. All thanks to Bennett.

I should have been happy he was happy again. I should have been happy something managed to break through his hardening shell and reach the real Roan, my Roan. But that was the problem. I had nothing to do with his turnaround. One stupid letter annihilated any sense of accomplishment I felt ten minutes ago and I fucking hated it.

12

ROAN

“I HATE HALLOWEEN,” Sasha snarled, his accent sounding even more Russian than usual.

“Of course you do. You hate everything.” I rolled my eyes and kept walking, surveying the line of elaborate masks crafted from all sorts of laces and leathers. Trying to come up with “costume” ideas for one of Bennett Reeve’s infamous Halloween masquerades was proving to be difficult, mostly because shopping with Sasha was like shopping with a toddler. All he had to do was put on a suit, which he looked damn fine in, and throw on a mask and that was it. It’s not like I was asking him to dress like one of the Village People. It was a black-tie event for crying out loud.

Since Sasha was too high up on his soapbox, he ignored my dig. “Who thought it was a good idea to let children run around annoying people? Knocking on doors, begging for candy? That’s not a holiday. That’s a headache. Every single one of those brats should—” He muttered something under his breath and smacked the back of his right hand against his left palm.

“Did you have any fun as a kid?” I looked over my shoulder, eyeing him up and down, looking every bit the mafia hitman he was. “Never mind. I already know the answer.”

“How do you even know this person?” Sasha asked, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet spread, like he was settling in for a fight. Right here. In the middle of a costume shop.

“Jealous much?” I grinned at an exquisite black and gray mask fashioned to look like a wolf. Biting my lower lip, I pulled it off the stand and turned around, holding it up for him. “Perfect.”

He was not amused. Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, he arched a black eyebrow and remained utterly silent.

I shrugged, looking at the mask again. “I thought it was funny.”

“Hilarious.”

“Maybe if you told me why they call you the Wolf, I’d stop bringing it up.”

If it was possible, his expression hardened even more and the temperature in the store dropped by about twenty degrees.

“Fine. You win. Don’t go.” Setting the mask down, I brushed past him, headed for the exit. I didn’t get far before his hand locked on my bicep and yanked me to a stop, his mouth close to my ear.

“What the fuck you mean ‘don’t go’?”

“Exactly what I said.” I matched his glare and straightened my spine. “I’m a big boy, Sasha. I don’t need you to babysit me for the rest of my life because one bad thing happened.”

Both of his eyebrows went up. “One bad thing? One bad thing?” Ah, fuck… here it comes… “Do not stand there and act like it was nothing. I have a right to be concerned. You could have died, Roan! You almost did die!”

“But I didn’t. And excuse me, your right? It didn’t happen to you. And it was months ago, so can you fucking drop it already?”

“No.” Figured.

As much as he hated being reminded of the fact I was beaten to a bloody pulp and left for dead in an alley, I hated it even more. But I especially hated that every so often we played the “Who suffered more?” game. I didn’t want to discount his feelings on the whole event, but I also wanted to maybe, one day, get on with my life. I couldn’t exactly do that while he was still being ridiculously overprotective.

Someone cleared their throat next to us. “Can I help you gentlemen find anything?”

Sasha also cleared his throat and tugged the lapels of his suit jacket, blatantly ignoring the clerk while walking in the opposite direction.

I tore my gaze away from Sasha’s retreating form and smiled at the old woman dripping in scarves and chunky jewelry. “Yeah, actually. I’m interested in that gold mask over there,” I said in the most upbeat voice I could manage, pointing toward the front of the store and well away from the sulking Russian.

“Oh, lovely. Let me get it down for you.”

“Thank you so much.” I smiled again, only letting it fall once her back was turned. Sasha and I didn’t venture out into public together very often and when we did we tended to fall into this dynamic — he would be the abrupt/borderline-rude attack dog, growling and barking at anyone who so much as looked at him wrong, and I’d have to charm the offended party with as much charisma as I could muster so we didn’t a) get kicked out or b) have the cops called on us.

Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I caught sight of Sasha across the store, his head tipped back and his eyes closed like he was praying. I didn’t know what his deal was with going to a charity event, but he was acting like it was the worst thing I’d ever asked him to do. Considering the things that had gone down in our relationship so far, this seemed like a very minor thing to pick a fight about.

On top of that, it was another reminder of the vastly different worlds from which we came. Trying to navigate between them wasn’t always easy, especially since Sasha was under strict orders from his boss to not engage in or display any “queer shit” in public. It only added to the stress and was one of the primary reasons we preferred staying in, other than Sasha’s disdain for people as a whole. But now we had a chance to go out and do something, like a normal couple, without risk of being seen. I didn’t expect him to be as excited about it as I was, but I didn’t get why he was so pissed.

The woman pulled down the mask I’d indicated and held it out to me. I nodded my approval and she started the process of ringing me up.

Even from a distance, I felt Sasha’s ice-blue gaze raking across my skin, practically searing a hole right through me. I turned slowly and locked eyes with him. After being on the receiving end of his death stare time and again I was unfazed by it. Then I did the one thing I knew would guarantee an end to this squabble — I flashed him my most radiant smile, exuding all the American warmth and goodwill he simultaneously loved and hated.

A second later, he rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

“I’ll take the wolf mask, too,” I said to the cashier, feeling none of the happiness I outwardly projected.

BEING that Bennett was the host and he was anything but predictable, the masquerades were never held in the same location from year to year. Last year was at the Field Museum. This year? One of the historic mansions built during the Gilded Age by one of the many millionaires who popped up in Chicago at the end of the nineteenth century. If memory served, it was part of the Bancroft estate, to which Bennett was somehow connected. Either way, it was an impressive venue.

When we climbed out of the car, Sasha stopped in his tracks. I couldn’t tell if it was the size and opulence of the house, the gobs of Halloween decorations, or the sea of people milling about that had him on edge already. Probably all of the above.

Slipping my hand into his, I tugged him forward. He promptly ripped his hand free, giving me an icy glare from beneath his ornate wolf mask. “Public.”

“Masked,” I spat back, grabbing his hand again and giving it a hard squeeze.

“I don’t like this,” he murmured as we drifted through the foyer and into the dark, glittering ballroom. Everything was draped in black and purple silks and damasks with candles and spiderwebs on every surface. Skeletons, bats, and stuffed crows were scattered around the room, along with elaborate displays of black and purple flowers. “Someone could see us.”

“Masks,” I reminded him for the twentieth time as he plucked his hand out of mine. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to jump your bones in the middle of the silent auction.”

In addition to the side-eye he gave me, I could tell his nose wrinkled beneath the mask. “What the fuck does that mean? Is that a Halloween joke? Because it’s not funny.”

“It’s just a saying,” I replied, lacing my fingers through his. I held onto his forearm with my other hand so he couldn’t disentangle himself quite so easily. “It means I’m not going to fuck you in front of everyone, so relax.”

“Relax.” He scoffed, muttering under his breath, “I’ll relax when we’re home and I can take this ridiculous thing off.”

“I think you look hot.” I shot him a coy smile and bit my lower lip suggestively. “My big bad Wolf.”

“I hate you right now,” he said, completely deadpan.

Laughing, I stopped walking and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He flinched, turning to stone against me. I ignored the ingrained reaction and kept pressing soft kisses to his lips, coaxing them open with flicks of my tongue. Little by little, he softened, returning my kiss gently.

When we pulled apart, I heard a small sigh that made me grin like an idiot. It was still strange to have the man known as the Wolf of Verkhoyansk, a Russian killing machine, be rendered vulnerable by someone as insignificant as me. People whispered his name in the criminal underworld, but somehow I was the one who brought him to his knees — when he let me.

“Do you want to check out the auction items first or get a drink?” I asked, gesturing between the opposite ends of the massive ballroom.

He started steering me toward the bar before the words fell from his lips. “Why is that even a question?”

“Right. I forgot who I’m talking to.”

We’d no more than grabbed a couple vodkas from the bar when Sasha went rigid again, halting immediately like someone froze him in time. He was staring at something across the room, his jaw shifting.

“What’s wrong?” I tried to see what the problem was, but there was no way I could tell with all of the people moving around. No one else was panicking or seemed to be in distress, so that was a good sign. Right?

“I thought I saw someone.”

Well, that didn’t narrow it down… The room was filled with at least a hundred people — masked people at that. How the hell would he even recognize someone?

“Is that someone a problem?” I prompted.

When the crowd shifted again, I caught sight of a blonde in a red dress staring in our direction. Considering we were in front of the bar with nothing but bottles behind us, I was pretty sure she was ogling my boyfriend right in front of me.

I couldn’t make out much about her, other than the obvious. A diamond necklace glittered around her throat, the large teardrop resting in the middle of her cleavage — a placement I’m sure was intentional. Her lipstick matched her dress, a fact made even more noticeable when she bit her lower lip and gave Sasha a smile that went beyond polite flirting. She looked like she was going to pounce from across the room and devour him in one bite.

I mean, I’d stare too if I wasn’t already lucky enough to be acquainted with him. His height, his build, the five o’clock shadow starting to show on his jaw. Even if you couldn’t see half of his face, there was no denying Sasha radiated sex and danger. But just because I understood all of that didn’t stop a flash of possessiveness from shooting through me.

He swore under his breath in Russian and downed the glass of vodka, practically slamming it onto the bar. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

“It’s a problem,” he said before diving into the swarm of bodies. People parted for him, like a school of fish scattering in front of a shark. Right before the crowd came back together, I saw the mystery blonde say something to him, complete with a stunning smile. His steps didn’t even slow as he grabbed her bicep and yanked her out of sight.

Well, shit. That probably wasn’t good. He already didn’t want to be here and now he was manhandling socialites for God knew what reason. Was she from the club? Was that Sergei’s daughter? Since I’d never met her, I could only assume. Otherwise, who else would have Sasha so pissed off without even speaking to him?

So much for a festive night out.

Shaking my head, I leaned one elbow against the bar and sipped my vodka, trying not to gag. It was definitely an acquired taste. Drinking it ice cold helped, but the burn afterward was wicked. Sasha must not have any lining left in his esophagus since he drank it like fucking water. Still, I persevered, watching the crowd for any other people we knew — namely Russian mafia men.

Minutes ticked by and there was no sign of either Sasha or the blonde. I was in the midst of debating with myself on how worried I should be when a lithe man in a peacock mask stepped up next to me and gave me a blatant head-to-toe.

“Roan Sinclair, is that you?” he asked, a half-smile on his face.

I squinted, trying to place the voice. I couldn’t make out much of the man’s face — his mouth, mainly, and his hazel eyes, a mix of olive and amber — but the elaborate three-piece suit that matched the colors in his mask and the heavily-ringed hands could only mean one person. “Bennett?”

“The one and only.” Even behind a peacock mask, Bennett’s charm was on full display. I stepped into his open arms, patting his back in a friendly greeting. “I’d never forget eyes like yours, my boy. Windows to the soul and all that.”

“Shameless flirt as always, I see.”

“Just stating the truth.” When we pulled apart, he kept one hand on my shoulder, reeling me back in for a closer conversation amidst the din in the ballroom. “How is my little songbird these days?”

I shrugged, trying to maintain my smile under the weight of his perceptive stare. “Great. Working on a couple music projects. Freelancing. But it’s great.”

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth again. “I thought your father would have taught you to be a better liar.”

I couldn’t help but bristle at the mere mention of the asshole. “That would require him to be around.”

Bennett snorted a laugh. “Take it not much has changed in that regard? Still a money-grubbing dickwad?”

Shaking my head, I bit back what I really wanted to say. Of all the people to come and go through the course of my life, very few recognized my father for the self-centered bastard that he was. Bennett was one such person and he made no qualms about letting Phillip Sinclair know he thought he was a piece of shit. Must have been nice to have the freedom to say and do as one pleased, backed by a family fortune that put the Sinclairs’ to shame. If it wasn’t for their mutual business dealings, I highly doubted Bennett would tolerate being in the same room as my father.

“Well, fuck him.” Bennett grinned and squeezed my shoulder. “Oh, before I forget. A little birdie told me there’s a Stradivarius violin coming to Bancroft’s in the near future. Do you want me to call you when it’s in? Perhaps you can attend the auction, perform a song or two for the prospective buyers?”

My jaw dropped for a full ten seconds before I realized I looked like a guppy. Snapping my mouth shut, I tried to formulate some sort of proper response, but it seemed all I could do was stand there and stare at him like he was Santa Claus and sputter out a few sounds now and again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He winked and reached out, chucking me under the chin. As his ringed-covered hand retracted, another tattooed hand came out of nowhere and snatched his wrist in a vise grip.

Fuck!

“Sasha,” I hissed, praying to God he didn’t snap Bennett’s wrist. “Let go. Now.”

“Who the fuck does he think he is, touching you? He’s lucky I haven’t ripped his arm off already.” The question may have technically been for me, but Sasha’s gaze was glued to Bennett’s.

“Easy tiger…” Bennett said with a smile, sliding even closer to Sasha, chuckling in a way that did not sound friendly. A quiet tapping sound pulled my attention downward. Somehow, Bennett produced a long, thin knife — a knife that was relaying a warning on Sasha’s inner thigh with each little pat. “We’re just two friends having a conversation. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“It’s Bennett,” I growled, willing Sasha to let go before Bennett fucking castrated him. “You know? The guy who invited us.”

Sasha didn’t look any happier with that answer than he did a minute ago, but at least he released his hold. His hand dropped safely to his side. It was clenched, and everyone in a five foot radius was still in danger of being decked, but it was progress.

Bennett, however, stayed exactly where he was, knife and all. He cocked his head, leaning up to study Sasha’s face in spite of the wolf mask. “Roan, who is this formidable specimen? A bodyguard?”

“He, um… No.” I scratched the back of my neck, trying to come up with something believable. “He’s a friend. Just a friend.”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn’t want to come solo, so… you know. I asked and he was free. I mean, who wouldn’t want to come to one of your parties?”

“Uh huh.”

“This is Aleksandr. Aleksandr, this is Bennett.”

“Mon coeur?” A man dressed entirely in black, including the intricate mask that obscured the top half of his face, appeared at Bennett’s side. He held a champagne flute in each hand, suspicion clear as day in his pale green eyes. “Is everything alright?”

In one fluid movement, the knife disappeared and Bennett stepped back, taking the flute and clinking it against the other. “Of course, my love. May I introduce Roan Sinclair and his friend, Aleksandr.” Bennett gave Sasha a knowing smirk. “Gentlemen, this mysterious creature beside me is Leander Welles, your silent co-host of the evening.”

Leander inclined his head politely, but his gaze didn’t leave Sasha, and Sasha’s didn’t leave Bennett.

“Nice to meet you,” I spat out, extending my hand toward Leander, hoping this didn’t suddenly turn into the OK Corral. Bennett might be faster than Sasha but Sasha would rip his arm off if given half the chance. Not even half. Like, one-sixteenth of a chance.

Thankfully my distraction worked. Leander’s attention drifted to me when he shook my hand. “A pleasure.”

“I’ll call you about the violin,” Bennett said, gesturing toward me with the champagne. He draped an arm over Leander’s shoulders and took a step away, pausing in front of Sasha. He opened his mouth and drew in a breath, stealing a quick glance at me. Whatever he was going to say disappeared with another chuckle and a shake of his head. The pair slipped off into the crowd, without bloodshed or broken bones. Thank fucking God.

Nevertheless, I closed the distance on Sasha, keeping my voice low. “Coat room. Five minutes.”

Slamming what remained of my vodka, I set the glass on the bar and stormed off for the hidden rendezvous point.

13

SASHA

AT FIRST, I thought I was seeing a ghost across the crowded space, a trick of the eyes from all of the glittering chandeliers. The blonde who kept staring at me seemed so familiar. That seductive smirk. And then it struck me hard, nearly stopping my heart. That necklace.

Daria.

It was fucking Daria.

Seeing her ignited a series of memories as painful as getting electrocuted had been. It was a sharp pain that radiated throughout my entire body, negating the ability to breathe or think about anything other than making the pain fucking stop. I’d know that smug bitch anywhere and from the look she gave me, she recognized me too.

Swearing softly, I tossed back the rest of my vodka.

“Stay here,” I said to Roan, hoping to God he actually listened this time. Despite the interest he’d shown in my past, this was something I didn’t want him knowing about. Ever. I needed to get her the fuck away from him before she destroyed the one good thing in my life.

“Where are you going?” Roan asked.

“It’s a problem,” I replied before marching into the sea of masks and tuxedos. Thankfully most of the people got out of my way, so I made it to Daria before she could slither away.

Her ruby-red lips twisted into a vicious smile once I was within ear-shot. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, the Wolf?” she said in Russian, that taunting smile firmly in place.

“You won’t be smiling by the time I’m done with you,” I snapped back in Russian. Wrapping my hand around her slim arm, I yanked her out of the ballroom.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” She made a point to say it in English, as loud as possible, the fucking bitch.

More than one person turned to watch us, exchanging gasps and wide-eyed looks with the people near them. A few women nudged their male companions forward, but none of the men actually made a move to stop me. Like they could have.

Ignoring her and them, I dragged her further down the hall and ducked into the first unoccupied room I came to. Shoving her into the library, I kicked the door shut behind me and advanced on her. “What the fuck are you doing here, Daria?”

“Didn’t you hear? I live here now.” Without an audience, she switched back to Russian and dropped the helpless act. Walking the tips of her red nails up the center of my chest, her tongue peeked out along her canine tooth.

Tempted as I was to break her fucking hand, I managed to refrain by slapping it away from me. “Since when?”

“Just recently. Aren’t you happy to see me?” She stretched up on her toes and wound her arms around my neck. “It’s been such a long time.”

Reaching behind me, I unhooked her hands but kept a hold of her wrists, squeezing as hard as I could until she rewarded me with a wince. “I’m only going to ask you one more time. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came with Misha.” She ripped her slender wrists free and rubbed one of them, glaring at me behind her red, lacy mask.

Fuck me. Misha was here? I suppressed a groan and focused on the bigger problem standing right in front of me. “So what the fuck do you want?”

“Nothing.” She smiled sweetly. “I swear.”

“You swear? You know what I swore?” I seized a handful of her hair and yanked her against me, holding her head at an awkward angle to increase the pain. She shrieked and clung to the front of my suit, actual fear flashing in her green eyes. “I swore I would fucking kill you if I ever saw you again. And now here you are. Time to honor my word.”

“Please, Sasha! I missed you, that’s all.”

I shoved her away like she’d burned me. “Missed me?” A stunned laugh actually came out. Of all the bullshit I thought she’d say, I never imagined that. “You fucking missed me? You had me thrown in prison, you crazy bitch! I took the fall for your goddamn family! Because of you!”

“It was all a mistake…” She held her hands up in front of her, like that would stop me from murdering her if that was what I wanted. Truth be told, I still hadn’t decided. I mean, I did want her dead, just not right that moment. I wasn’t that stupid.

“A mistake?” I took a step forward again, wrapping both hands around her throat and squeezing slowly, like a python. Her diamond necklace dug into my palms, but it wasn’t nearly enough to deter me. “Do you know what they did to me because of your fucking ‘mistake’? The police? The prison guards? The enemies of your fucking family?!”

“You know who I am, Sasha,” she wheezed, clinging to my wrists and digging her nails into my skin. “That wasn’t me. They made me do it! I saw what they did to you and I was scared!”

“Did you hear what I did to your brother? How I killed him? The steam cut through him like fucking butter. And before that? I peeled his fucking face off. Now... what do you think I’ll do to you?”

A couple of tears spilled down her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering and whispering, like she was praying. Or begging. When she opened them again, black streaks ran beneath her eyes. “I’m not Yuri.”

“No. You’re worse.” I gave one final squeeze and threw her backward into the bookcase. Straightening my jacket, I pivoted on my heel and started for the door. “If I ever see you again, I will fucking kill you. I don’t care who is around.”

She sucked in a ragged breath behind me. “I came to warn you, Sasha.”

I didn’t stop walking.

“Fine. Just remember, when my father comes, you’re the one who sent me away. I could have helped you, but you didn’t want it.”

I stopped abruptly, keeping my back to her. “Kazimir is in prison.”

Her laugh sent a chill down my spine. “Not anymore. He knows what you did to Yuri. To Viktor. How you destroyed his business here. Are you ready to face his wrath?”

Swearing again, I ripped the door to the library open and stormed out. Tonight went from bad to worse with two little words. Not anymore.

Pushing through the crowd, I scanned the area looking for Roan’s elaborate gold mask. Praise be to God, he listened. He was still near the bar where I left him, talking with someone else. A man in a peacock mask.

As I made my way toward them, the peacock laughed and reached forward, stroking beneath Roan’s chin.

All rational thought flew out of my head. First the unsettling conversation with Daria, and now this?!

Lunging forward, I clamped a hand on the peacock’s wrist, crushing it as hard as I could. Kazimir wasn’t above sending assassins. I doubted one would be so flamboyant, but I wasn’t taking any chances with Roan’s life. If Daria could make it in here, so could any number of hitmen.

“Sasha,” Roan whispered next to me. “Let go. Now.”

Like hell! I locked eyes with the other man, committing their olive color to memory. “Who the fuck does he think he is, touching you? He’s lucky I haven’t ripped his arm off already.”

“Easy tiger…” An American. Wonderful. Just what I needed.

The peacock smiled, sidling up to me. A low chuckle slipped out of him at about the same time something cold and hard thumped against the inside of my thigh. I didn’t need to look down to know we were in some sort of a standstill. The question was, who would come out in tact? “We’re just two friends having a conversation. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“It’s Bennett. You know? The guy who invited us,” Roan said, as if it that little tidbit would make a difference. I mean, it did and it didn’t. At least I felt fairly confident the peacock wasn’t one of Kazimir’s men now that I knew he was from Roan’s world, not mine. But he still shouldn’t be touching Roan with such familiarity. I didn’t give a fuck who he was, host or not.

Before I pissed Roan off anymore, I unlocked my fingers from the man’s wrist and lowered my hand. I refused to back off, however, and continued my stare down with the peacock, teeth clenched so hard they ached.

Bennett didn’t back down either. Giving me a smirk, he tilted his head and stared, unflinchingly. He must have been extremely sure of his knife skills, or he was incredibly stupid to keep pressing the issue. “Roan, who is this formidable specimen? A bodyguard?”

“He, um… No.” Roan shifted on his feet, glancing between us. “He’s a friend. Just a friend.”

“Uh huh.” That lie was so bad, even this idiot didn’t buy it.

“I didn’t want to come solo, so… you know. I asked and he was free. I mean, who wouldn’t want to come to one of your parties?”

“Uh huh.”

“This is Aleksandr. Aleksandr, this is Bennett.”

Another man approached from the side, like a shadow. He was dressed sensibly in black, unlike the fucking peacock, and carried two glasses of champagne. “Mon coeur. Is everything alright?”

“Of course, my love.” The knife disappeared from my thigh and Bennett stepped back, taking the champagne with a smile. “May I introduce Roan Sinclair and his friend, Aleksandr.” Hs gaze landed on me again as he spoke, like he was daring me to challenge him. “Gentlemen, this mysterious creature beside me is Leander Welles, your silent co-host of the evening.”

Leander nodded his greeting. His cold gaze raked across me, while I continued to assess Bennett, trying to see what his angle was and why he emphasized the word “friend” like that.

“Nice to meet you,” Roan said, offering his hand to Leander.

“A pleasure.” Leander shook it politely before disentangling himself and wrapping his fingers, subtly, around the crook of Bennett’s elbow.

“I’ll call you about the violin,” Bennett said in parting to Roan. He slung his arm over his... Leander’s shoulders and wandered away, pausing again to give me a knowing look. His lips twitched before he inhaled a breath. Thinking better of whatever it was, he laughed quietly and shook his head, giving me a parting wink before slipping off into the crowd with the other man.

A second later, Roan was in my face, his voice damn near a growl. “Coat room. Five minutes.”

He downed the rest of his vodka and stalked off.

Great. This night went from bad to worse to fucking awful. By the time it was over, there was no telling what sort of damage would be done.

First, I was dragged here to rub elbows with people I didn’t give two shits about, to fork out money for a charity I didn’t give two shits about. Now, not only was Roan pissed, but he was off preparing to scold me about my violent tendencies, as if I wasn’t completely aware of what I’d done thirty seconds prior. And I’m sure he wouldn’t care in the slightest that my concern was only ever for his wellbeing.

I signaled the bartender for another vodka. Tossing it back, I thunked the glass down next to Roan’s and set off for the fucking coat closet.

14

ROAN

WHILE I WAITED the allotted time, I paced back and forth among the expensive furs and custom overcoats, rehearsing what I was going to say. I was going to be calm and rational, and explain to Sasha he had nothing to worry about with Bennett. Or anyone. Unlike my concerns with Valery... Or that blonde chick... Or God knew who else Sasha interacted with while he was out schmoozing with Misha until three in the morning.

The second Sasha walked into the room, it all went right out the window.

“What is wrong with you?!” I snapped before Sasha even had a chance rip his mask off or lock the door. “You cannot grab people like that. Especially here. These people? They’re dangerous too. Ok? Not your type of dangerous, but dangerous nonetheless because they have money and protection and they won’t think twice about crushing you under their heel.”

“No one should be touching you,” he countered with a growl. “You understand? No one. And this?” He held up the mask before whipping it to the side. “This makes it all the more difficult. I don’t know these people. I can’t see these people. How am I supposed to keep you safe if we are in a crowd of fake faces?”

“You can’t keep me safe! Don’t you get that?!” I threw my arms out, about two seconds away from screaming out every ounce of my frustration. “I know you want to. I know you feel guilty about what happened even if the words will never leave your mouth. But shit happens.”

“That shouldn’t happen!” he shouted back, coming nose-to-nose with me.

“Well, it did! And I thought we were fucking past this! After last week, I thought you’d finally get it through your head!”

“Get what through my head?”

“I’m not going to fucking break!”

A wince marred his face, unleashing a wave of my own guilt. This was neither the time nor the place to have any sort of conversation related to that. We needed to, eventually, but definitely not here and not yelling at one another.

“I appreciate the concern,” I said, lowering my voice and making a concerted effort to steer this conversation back into civil territory. “I appreciate the kid gloves and the fact that you’ve never pressured me for anything. But—”

“But?!” The look on his face was lethal. “I can’t believe there’s a fucking ‘but’ after that! What should I have done? Bent you over a table and fucked you senseless at the first goddamn opportunity?”

“Maybe.” I threw my hands up, at my absolute wit’s end with him. “Because then at least I’d know you still fucking want me!”

I didn’t know what sort of reaction I was expecting, but all I got was silence. No shouting. No defense. No counteraccusation. He just stood there, fucking seething. His eyes narrowed like he was plotting how to get rid of my body while his chest rose and fell rapidly.

So much for keeping it civil.

This whole night had been a fucking mistake.

Shaking my head, I headed for the door. Knowing Sasha the way I did, I made sure to give him a wide berth so he couldn’t grab me. Not that I’d get an apology. Ever. But historically speaking, conversations didn’t end until he allowed them to.

I was actually surprised when I made it to the door without incident.

My fingers were on the lock when he slammed into me from behind, smashing me against the door. My cheekbone ricocheted off the thick wooden panel, pain blooming in my cheek.

“Fuck! Get off of me,” I snapped, trying to shrug him off, as if it would actually work. He pinned me in place with his body, trapping both of my hands against the door underneath his own.

“Or what?” The fact he used my own taunt against me only pissed me off more. This had officially gone from a spat to a fucking fight.

The familiar scents of wintergreen and vodka enveloped me as his breath caressed the back of my neck. I could ignore how good the minty alcohol and his cologne smelled. I could ignore the goosebumps that popped up every time he breathed or brushed his lips over my skin. I could not, however, ignore the hard-on currently shoved against the door — or the one pressed against my ass.

“Nothing to say now? You, who was always pushing?” he challenged, dragging his tongue along my earlobe before nipping it.

I jerked away from him with a wince and turned my face the other way. “I already told you to get the fuck off of me.”

Letting go of one wrist, he wrapped his fingers around my throat and pushed his hips against me even harder, forcing me to arch my back. “You don’t like the way I’m treating you, Solnyshko? You think I’ve been too gentle? Too soft?” He squeezed the arteries in my neck until I thought my head was going to explode from the pressure. “You want me to be the fucking Wolf for you?”

Spinning me suddenly, he shoved my back against the door, coming nose-to-nose with me again, his ice-blue eyes practically burning with all the emotions he refused to give voice to.

“You think I’m afraid you’re going to break?” The dark little laugh that followed was both incredibly sexy and terrifying. I could literally count on one hand the number of times I’d heard him laugh — and one was right before the asshole shot at me. “I’ll fucking break you. Is that what you want? Will that finally make you fucking happy?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. I didn’t know what I wanted, nor did I have time to think of a comeback.

In the next instant, his hands ripped open the front of my pants and fisted my cock, jerking me off in rough, angry strokes. His kiss was equally furious. Forcing his tongue into my mouth, his lips crushed mine so hard I was sure they’d be bruised come the morning. The heady mix of wintergreen and vodka flooded my senses, stealing what breath I could manage to pull in before he took it away again.

Tearing his mouth away from mine, he replaced his tongue with two fingers, pressing my tongue flat on the bottom of my mouth. His thumb rested underneath the point of my chin, giving him complete control over my lower jaw. Using his new handhold, he shoved me to my knees.

I glared up at him, debating whether or not biting him would be worth it. In the end, I opted not to. I didn’t even try to stand again, partly because I didn’t know if my legs would support me at the moment. The other part was curious to see how far he was going to go with this little temper tantrum to prove his point.

“Back where it started,” he said through his teeth, unbuckling his belt and ripping the zipper down. “Except this time, you don’t get to fucking walk away from me.”

“That’s what you think.”

Pushing the black fabric down, he freed his own cock from the torturous restraint, exhaling as he gave it a few lazy strokes right in front of me. “What are you waiting for? You know what to do.”

“I’m not in the mood.” That was a fucking lie, evident by the hard-on he’d literally felt thirty seconds ago.

“Do I look like I give a shit? Open.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.” He would. He totally would. I had no idea why I would say something like that, except I still hadn’t learned to keep my goddamn mouth shut when it mattered.

“No?” He ran his fingers through the longer part of my hair and seized a fistful. Just as he pulled my head back, he grabbed my jaw in his other hand. “You have two choices: open your mouth or I’ll open it for you.”

Knowing I had a meeting in the suburbs the next day which would more than likely require me to sing, I didn’t want to chance any damage to my throat. So, I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, waiting to see what his next punishment would be. I expected his tongue again, or his fingers. Even his cock. I did not expect him to lower his face closer to mine and spit in my mouth. It was hot. And gross. But then he grabbed the back of my head and yanked me forward and my mouth was on his dick, so grossness seemed irrelevant at that point.

He kept one hand threaded through my hair, controlling the pace and the angle. I could lick and suck and do whatever else I wanted with my mouth, but he decided how much room I had to maneuver and when I was allowed to deep throat him, which wasn’t often.

Strangely, my hands were also off limits. The second I touched his balls, he slapped my hand away.

“I didn’t say that was an option,” he growled.

“Why? Afraid you’re going to come too soon?”

Grabbing me around the throat, he yanked me to my feet with one hand. “Keep talking and see what happens.”

He all but threw me forward, away from him. I’d barely righted myself when he shoved me between the shoulder blades, hard, directing me toward one of the upholstered benches in the middle of the room.

“Am I not doing it for you today, baby? Maybe it’s because I’m so damn rusty,” I tossed over my shoulder. I shouldn’t have goaded him. After the dildo thing, he’d been a little more affectionate, but full-on sex was still off the table for whatever reason. Although, given how pissed he was, that might have been about to change… They always said be careful what you wish for.

The next thing I knew, he spun me roughly. His large hand landed on the side of my face with a surprising sting, gripping my chin. “The fuck?! Rules, Sasha!”

“Shut the fuck up before I break another one of your fucking rules.” Break another one? Jesus, he’d already broken #1 and #2 — hitting and barking orders, respectively. Pretty sure he violated #3 on a daily basis, since he never left the house without at least two guns. So much for establishing boundaries.

Pushing me onto the bench by my jaw, he wasted no time kneeling between my legs. Squeezing the base of my dick hard enough to take my breath away, he sucked the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around.

It was hard to be mad with his mouth sliding up and down my length. I mean, my brain was fucking pissed. But my sappy little heart knew deep down this was his way of working through whatever shit was going on inside his own head. Since therapy was absolutely out of the question, this would have to do.

I was on the verge of a well-deserved orgasm when Sasha popped off my cock with a growl. Pounding reverberated in my head. No, it was the door. Someone was banging on it like they were going to knock it down.

“Chicago PD! Open the door!”

Fuck!

Sasha and I exchanged a wide-eyed look. Pitted against a common threat, we tabled our fight for a later time and jumped to our feet, quickly rearranging ourselves to look presentable again.

Since I didn’t hate cops with the fire of a thousand suns, I opened the door with a soft smile and a genuinely confused look. “Sorry, I didn’t realize the door was locked. These old houses sometimes have a mind of their own.”

“Are you alone in here?” the cop asked, glancing behind me.

Sasha slid further out of view, blending in with the wall of black coats.

“Yep. Just me,” I said, stepping out and closing the door behind me. “Is everything ok, officer?”

“Can you please follow me to the ballroom?”

I blinked but nodded, casting a cautious glance at the closed door between Sasha and I.

THE REALIZATION I’d forgotten my mask in the coat room hit me the second I stepped into the ballroom. Not that it mattered. The police were in the process of making everyone remove theirs, however briefly, for identification. Since I wasn’t a senator with dirty secrets or a corrupt businessman, I didn’t really care who knew if I was here or not.

I suppose I should have cared.

Standing with my arms crossed, I watched the scene unfold like my own personal true-crime documentary. Police separated people into smaller groups and relocated them to other parts of the house for private interviews.

“Small world,” a Russian voice said next to me, sending chills down my spine. It didn’t belong to Sasha — it was Misha.

Glancing up, I hoped for a split second it wasn’t him. Sasha-sized frame, perfectly tailored black tuxedo, and stunning sky-blue eyes? It was Misha without a doubt, even if he was still wearing an intricate silver mask. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited.” Duh.

“I didn’t realize you knew Bennett.”

Misha smirked, scratching the corner of his mouth with his pinky. “Our paths crossed one or twice. What’s your excuse?”

“He’s like a family friend, I guess. I don’t know. Same social circles anyway.”

He nodded and glanced around, like he was looking for someone. “Are you here alone?”

I hesitated, shifting my weight to the other foot. It’s not that Sasha and I weren’t allowed to be seen together in public, but the two of us showing up for a function like this was bound to filter back to Sergei now that Misha was here. Not to mention, the mysterious blonde in the red dress and whatever relationship she had to this whole happy little crime family.

“Yep,” I replied, popping the ‘p’ in the hope it sold my irritation. Just in case it didn’t, I switched gears. “Do you know what’s going on? Why are the cops here? And why can’t we leave? I have stuff to do tomorrow. I’d like to be home before midnight.”

“Oh, it’s because there’s been a murder.”

I stared at him, holding my breath and waiting for the punchline. He said it so casually. It had to have been a joke, right? With Halloween right around the corner, it was an elaborate murder-mystery dinner thing... right?

When Misha didn’t volunteer anymore information, I filled the silence with more questions. “Are you serious?! Someone was murdered in the middle of all of this? How? Where? Who?”

Misha pulled his cell phone out of his inner pocket and swiped through the screens before handing it to me.

Holy shit!

It was the blonde chick!

One picture showed her smiling and very much alive, obviously taken earlier in the evening. Her arm was twined through Misha’s, of all fucking people. For being gay, or whatever he was, he sure looked cozy enough with his arm around her and his hand resting on the curve of her hip.

“Swipe right,” Misha said, as stoic as ever.

The next photo showed the same woman sprawled on an oriental rug in what looked like an office or a library. Blood coated the front of her dress, all thanks to the knife someone stabbed right in the middle of her chest. Pink foam spewed from her mouth and her wide green eyes stared at something off-screen.

There was no point in asking how, or why, Misha had pictures of a dead chick on his phone. I was sure I didn’t want to know the answer anyway.

A lump rose in my throat and no amount of swallowing would get rid of it. “Who is she?”

“She was my date for tonight but I lost track of her a little bit ago. Valery swore he saw Sasha with her. Are you sure he’s not here?” Misha looked around again, methodically scanning the crowd. It’s not like Sasha would be hard to miss, but thankfully he was nowhere to be seen.

I shook my head, trying to get my thoughts together instead of the constant oh shit oh shit oh shit streaming through my brain. “He hates Halloween,” was all I could come up with. It was still a good defense when it came to Sasha. Misha had to have known what a stubborn asshole he could be when he one-hundred percent did not want to do something, so me showing up alone to an event like this was definitely plausible.

Misha nodded and squeezed my bicep gently. “Watch your back, Roan. After tonight, I have a feeling things are going to take a turn in the city.” And on that creepy note, he walked away to meet up with a small group of men. His men. Men who knew Sasha and knew him well. Men like Valery, who I could see giving me the evil eye from across the room.

“What the fuck did you do now, Sasha?” I muttered to myself, hoping there was a reasonable explanation for all of this. Well… As reasonable as it could be with a Russian hitman.

15

SASHA

THE RIDE HOME from that God awful masquerade was completely silent. Not even the radio was on to break the stifling absence of sound.

After Roan led the cop away from the coat room, I slipped out unnoticed. My attempt to avoid the crowd altogether was thwarted when another cop caught me in the hallway about two feet from the back door and ushered me into the dining room.

Bennett and Leander were there, speaking with what looked like a detective in hushed, animated tones. Well, Bennett was animated. Leander was either listening intently to the detective or he was on the verge of throwing up. Needless to say, neither one looked pleased. As the hosts of such an outlandish affair, I’m sure they were less than thrilled to have the police crashing their event.

From the pieces of their conversation I could hear and the line of questions being directed at me and the other guests, there had been some sort of serious accident. They didn’t say what. Instead, they disguised it by saying “incident” and “disturbance.”

Once the remainder of the guests were fully ID’ed, the cops let us leave.

Roan was outside the mansion, pacing up and down the sidewalk, alternating between wrapping his arms around himself and shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked ok, except for the mix of emotions on his face. Worry and anger seemed to be the predominant ones, which didn’t bode well for me.

“Where have you been?” he asked as soon as I was close enough, though he didn’t even let me answer. “Misha is here. And Valery. And God knows who else. And they saw you. Valery saw you.”

Slipping my hand around his bicep, I led him away from the crowd, keeping an eye out for friends and foe alike. “Stop talking.”

“Did you murder that woman?”

“Murder?” I glanced at him, brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? What woman?”

“That blonde chick you were with.”

Daria was dead?

“Fuck.” Christ, apparently things could reach a new level of Hell. I’m sure even in death she’d find another way to fuck me over. It was her specialty, after all. I spent five years in a Russian prison thanks to that bitch and with my luck, I’d spend five times that in an American one. If she wasn’t fucking dead, I’d kill her all over again.

I unlocked my Mercedes and yanked the door open for Roan. He stayed where he was, suspicion in his eyes. “You didn’t deny it.”

“I didn’t kill her, but I will kill you if you don’t stop talking and get your ass in the car.”

He rolled his eyes and slid into the passenger seat. And that’s where he sat, glaring at the windshield, for the rest of the ride. When we got home, he climbed out and didn’t spare a second look in my direction before setting off for our apartment at the briskest pace I think I’d ever seen short of a run.

“Roan.” I stalked after him, barely catching the elevator doors by shoving my arm in at the last second. “Goddamn it. What is the matter with you?”

He glared at me from across the elevator. “Can you go anywhere without fucking killing someone?”

Shaking my head, I propped my hands on my hips and tipped my head back, hoping I didn’t fucking snap on him. I knew I had to be there for him, but I was getting really fucking tired of being blamed for every single goddamn thing that went sideways.

When the elevator doors slid open, it was me who stormed out first. I keyed us into the apartment and tore them out of the door so I could throw them across the kitchen to the opposite counter. Loosening the tie at my throat, I ripped it over my head and sent it sailing as I stalked across the open space toward the bedroom.

“Just tell me why,” Roan said, storming after me.

“Why what?” I shrugged out of my jacket and wadded it into a ball, throwing it in the dry cleaning pile with as much force as I could.

“Why did you kill her?”

Whirling on him, I closed the narrow distance in the closet so fast he stumbled back into the shelving unit. “I didn’t kill anyone.” But I was about to. I was real fucking close.

Stubborn as always, he leaned forward, reclaiming the space I’d taken. “Really? Because the last thing I saw was you yanking her out of the room and thirty minutes later she’s dead.”

“I didn’t kill her,” I repeated, enunciating each word, like it would do a damn bit of good. He’d clearly already made up his mind, not that I could blame him based on what he saw.

But he said Misha and Valery were also there. Either one of them could have very well done it. I had no idea what the reason would be, nor did I really care. They both had the necessary skills and her being dead was one less problem for me at the end of the day. I honestly didn’t give a fuck who killed her so long as I didn’t take the blame for it.

Roan, on the other hand, was demanding answers I couldn’t fucking give him no matter how much I wanted to.

“Who was she?” Roan asked.

My molars cemented themselves together as my gaze drifted over the top of his head. He was easier to ignore when I wasn’t looking directly at him.

In a complete role reversal, Roan grabbed my jaw in one hand and yanked my face downward. “No, don’t do that to me. Answer the question.”

I jerked free from his grip and shoved him out of the way of the door. There was no way I could tell him who Daria was without telling him who she was related to. I hadn’t spoken Yuri’s name to Roan in months, not even once, and I wasn’t about to break that streak now just to appease his insatiable curiosity.

When Roan emerged from the closet a minute later, it was with a duffel bag. He didn’t even look at me as he headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked, following him regardless of the fact my shirt was unbuttoned and I only had one cufflink undone.

“Don’t worry about it.”

In the hallway, I was able to dart in front of him, using every bit of my bigger size to block him from going any further. “You can’t leave.”

“The fuck I can’t. Get out of the way, Sasha.”

I shook my head, refusing to move. If what Daria said was true and Kazimir was really out of prison, then that meant he’d be here soon — if he wasn’t already.

Besides, even if Kazimir wasn’t a factor, there was no way in hell I was letting Roan storm out on me. Not after everything we’d gone through to make it to this point. He couldn’t throw that away for some backstabbing bitch who finally got what was coming to her.

“Why?” Roan dropped the bag and glared at me. “Why do you fucking care? You won’t tell me the truth. You won’t let me leave. What the fuck do you want from me?”

“You. I want you.” I took a cautious step forward, waiting for him to outmaneuver me the minute he got the chance. Amazingly, he stayed where he was, watching my slow approach with narrowed eyes.

Sliding my fingers along each side of his jaw and into his hair, I held the back of his head gently, brushing my thumb against his cheek. “I want you, Roan. That’s it.”

“That’s it? Really?” At the moment, I’d probably have an easier time convincing him the sun rose in the west.

“Yes, really. I don’t know why you don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t realize your standards were so low.”

I made a face at him. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t be a dick,” he spat back, making the same irritated face at me.

Slanting my mouth over his, I kissed him roughly. He didn’t pull away like I expected him to. Instead, he kissed me back with the same anger, practically ripping my shirt off in the process.

Before I could even reach for his, he’d blazed through the buttons and dropped his shirt in a heap on the floor with mine. Pushing me back into the bedroom, he didn’t stop kissing me until I ran into the bed. I’d barely registered it was there before he shoved me hard enough that I fell backward onto the mattress. He hooked the waistband of my pants and pulled them, and my briefs, down in one swoop.

After he kicked his own pants off, he reached into the top drawer of the nightstand and rummaged around for a minute. I half expected that blue dick to make an appearance, but he only pulled out a bottle of lube.

I propped myself on my elbows and arched a brow at him, watching as he poured it into his hand and continued to hold it instead of rubbing it, well, anywhere.

“Lay down,” he said, tipping up his chin toward the mattress.

I didn’t budge. “And where do you think you’re putting that?”

“Wherever the fuck I want. Lay down.”

“Roan—”

With his free hand, he pressed against my chest until I yielded and laid flat on my back, watching him warily.

My concerns vanished when he smeared the lube all over my cock. Until the tingling kicked in. “What the fuck?”

Rather than answer, he licked the length of my dick and then blew gently on the same area. A rush of peppermint hit me at the same time a strange, icy sort of heat enveloped my cock.

“I couldn’t wait until Christmas,” Roan said with a smirk before dragging his tongue up and down my shaft again. “What do you think?”

My eyes drifted shut, relishing the mix of sensations. Warm wet heat, cold air, and that weird tingling. “I’ve never loved Christmas more than I do right now.”

He sucked on the crown like it was a damn candy cane before popping off, stroking me slowly. “Do you? Love Christmas?”

“No. But I’ll love whatever you want me to. Just don’t stop.”

He pressed kisses to the inside of my thigh, letting his hand move between my balls and my cock, toying with both as he felt like it. “Or what?”

Propping myself on my elbows again, I eyed him suspiciously, replaying what he said. Was it wishful thinking, or did he really just say that? One simple little question — two words he’d used to challenge me from Day One. The beginning of his defiance, of the banter that ultimately led us down the path we were on.

I only caught a glimpse of a smirk before he sank his teeth into my thigh. Gasping, I ran my hand through his hair, about two seconds away from pulling him off when he finally let go on his own. A bright red mark graced my skin, complete with impressions from his teeth. I knew just by looking at it that it was going to be there for weeks with how hard he fucking latched on. Guess it was payback for all the times I did it to him.

“Come here,” I said, tossing my head.

He shifted upward, planting kisses up my abs to my chest, and finally my mouth. I threaded my fingers through his hair and kissed him hard. Wrapping one arm around him, I rolled quickly and settled him beneath me, continuing to kiss him until we were breathless.

Rocking my hips against his, I ground against him while kissing and caressing every part of him that I could reach.

“Ok, that’s weird,” he gasped, his fingers digging into the back of my shoulder.

I pulled back with a blink. “What’s wrong?”

“Kind of feels like my dick is on fire. But… not.”

“Oh, here. Let me make it better.” I scooted down, all too happy to return the favor. I made sure to get his cock nice and wet before blowing all over it.

“No! That made it worse!” he said, squirming away as best he could with my weight draped over his legs.

“Are you sure?” I grabbed his hips and dragged him back to me, laying on top of him again, chest to chest, so I could see his eyes. They were clear and bright and fucking beautiful. “I can try again. I’ll try all night if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything you ask.”

He brushed his nose against mine, a shy smile on his lips. “I love you.”

Stunned into silence, a fucking feather could have knocked me over. In our time together, we’d never said that. The only time that word was uttered was when I was on my knees in front of Sergei, preparing to be executed. I wanted to die with a clear conscience. More importantly, I wanted Roan to know, as fucked up as it was, it had been real for me. After that night, after Roan knew how I felt, there wasn’t a need to say it again. But hearing him say it to me? I thought my heart was on the verge of bursting.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to say it,” he continued quietly, tracing his fingertips down the side of my face. “I should have said it before. I jus—”

Seizing the back of his neck, I pulled his mouth against mine, kissing him gently. My tongue caressed his while his hands moved across my skin, following the lines of my body. In the wake of those three little words, something inside of me shifted. It wasn’t about sex anymore or chasing some primal feeling of possessiveness. It was real love, for both of us — without a shadow of a doubt.

Roan pulled back, kissing the underside of my jaw. I ran my hand through his hair and tipped his chin up, meeting his gaze. “I love you, Roan. Don’t ever forget that. You are the most important thing in this world to me.”

The smile that flashed across his face seconds before he kissed me again was so fucking perfect, I almost stopped him to marvel at it. It wasn’t forced or practiced or masking a sneer. It was his beautiful, radiant smile — the real smile. The real Roan.

My sun was back.

16

SASHA

THE ALARM on my cell phone chimed incessantly somewhere off to the side of me. I reached for it but my other arm was weighed down, limiting how far I could go. I gave a little jerk, gaining enough ground to snatch the stupid thing off the nightstand.

Silencing the damn noise, I turned my attention to the source of my struggle — Roan.

He was curled up next to me, still fast asleep, using my arm as a pillow. If that wasn’t enough, one of his legs was hooked around one of mine. I didn’t care. He could have used my whole body as a pillow and I wouldn’t have cared. I just liked being near him, especially like this.

Easing myself down next to him again, I brushed the hair away from his forehead. At long last, I could say he actually looked peaceful. The two orgasms from last night might have had something to do with it, but I still considered it a win.

He scrunched his face, the silver hoop in his nose flashing in the morning light. Inhaling a deep breath, he blinked a couple of times before opening his eyes. It was another couple of seconds before they focused on me. When they did, his face split into another radiant smile, the kind that stopped me in my tracks.

“Good morning,” I murmured, kissing him softly.

“Morning. What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“Nine?” His eyes widened and he shot upright, scrambling to throw the covers off. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have a meeting at ten!” He leapt out of bed and darted into the bathroom.

Scrubbing my face with one hand, I groaned and forced myself out of bed, trailing after him. “You have an hour. What’s the rush?”

“It’s in Elgin,” he said with his toothbrush dangling out of his mouth. He spit in the sink and whipped the toothbrush onto the counter before hurrying into the shower.

“What’s it for?”

“Interviewing for the symphony orchestra. This is the only time the directors were available.”

I opened the glass door and stuck my head in. “Well, it’s not like you don’t have a fast car or anything.”

“Not funny,” he scowled at me before ducking under the running water.

Shrugging, I went to close the door but his hand shot out, grabbing my shoulder.

“Hey. Wait.”

I turned back, lifting a brow in lieu of asking the question out loud.

He leaned forward and kissed me, inadvertently dripping water onto my chest. I’m sure it was meant to be quick, but I took it a step further. I couldn’t help myself. I had to take advantage of his good mood in case it disappeared again.

Kissing his jaw and working my way down his throat to his shoulder, I pushed him back into the shower. He shook his head as I stepped inside, my hand planted in the center of the chest, walking him backward.

“Sasha, no.”

“No what?” I bit my lower lip, pressing him up against the tile wall.

“You’re going to make me late,” he said with a sigh, despite the fact his dick was already well on its way to hard.

“Not if I drive you,” I replied, running my hands up and down his wet body, creating more suds on his skin from the remnants of his body wash.

“I’d like to get there in one piece.”

“Then stop talking and start kissing.”

He grinned against my lips, wrapping his arms around my neck, and doing just that.

WE WERE on our way back from Roan’s interview in the suburbs when Misha texted, telling me to be at Delirium at seven. No explanation. No further instructions. Nothing.

Scowling at the message, I tossed my phone back in the cup holder. “Apparently I have a meeting tonight.”

“Is everything ok?”

“I have no idea.”

I caught sight of a frown before Roan leaned forward and turned up the radio. He laced his fingers through mine and pulled my hand into his lap. His other hand moved with the music, tapping out the beat on the arm rest.

While I appreciated Roan wasn’t hounding me for details this time around, I also wished he would have taken control of the conversation instead of letting the music fill the silence. I wanted the distraction. I wanted him to talk at length about composers and orchestras and whatever new project he was working on. Anything to keep me from dreading the appointed hour with Misha.

I had no idea what Misha wanted but I was fairly certain it had something to do with Daria Belova’s untimely murder. What, exactly, remained to be seen and the unknown left me with knots in my chest.

SIPPING MY VODKA, I checked my watch again.

Misha was late. That in itself was unsettling. Misha was never late. Even for a Russian, he was early for everything. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was one of his spy tactics — trying to unnerve me before our actual conversation. Then again, he’d never been late before and if he was going to try and put me on edge, he would have done it in the beginning of our working relationship. After so many months of working closely together, he had no reason to test me.

Three drinks, four cigarettes, and a half an hour after he told me to meet him at Delirium, Misha stepped up to the bar next to me. “Sasha. You know there’s no smoking in here.”

“So your bartender keeps telling me.” I finished my vodka and turned to face him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Did you leave him in one piece?” Misha asked, flagging down said bartender for his own glass and a refill for me.

“More or less.” The bartender in question, a flamboyant thing that reminded me of the peacock, glared at me and stomped away after serving Misha.

“My apologies for being late. I was with the boss.” Misha took a sip of his drink before turning to face me again, leaving the rest of his commentary unspoken. Irritation danced at the corner of his mouth, but he’d never volunteer his complaint.

“Problems?” I asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He smiled the same way I did right before I did something painful to someone and sipped his vodka. When he lowered the tumbler, he abruptly changed topics. “I saw Roan last night.”

I tapped ash off the end of my cigarette, letting silence work in my favor and ask the questions for me. Until I knew what the fuck he wanted, I didn’t want to give anything away — especially if Roan was somehow involved.

“It was at a charity event downtown. Quite the spectacle,” Misha continued when I failed to ask further.

Nodding, I purposely held in the next puff of smoke until my lungs burned.

“Did he tell you about the murder?” he asked, watching me carefully.

Expelling the smoke in an even stream, I shook my head. “No.”

“It caused quite a stir. Police everywhere. The creme de la creme of the city were horrified. I thought for sure he would have told you all about it.” Misha swirled the vodka in his glass before taking another sip.

“We didn’t exactly speak last night.” It wasn’t a complete lie. We didn’t speak beyond our fight and Roan’s declaration that he loved me. To me, that was more important than discussing Daria and what a disaster the masquerade had been.

Misha cocked his head. “Trouble at home?”

“Nothing that will affect my work here.” I cleared my throat and stole a quick sip of my drink.

“Good.” He nodded once with finality. “You remember Daria Belova? Yuri’s older sister?”

“What about her?” No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep the growl out of my voice. Although, the fact I hated her shouldn’t have been news to Misha. Misha made it his business to know everything about everyone, a habit he brought to Sergei from his time with the Spetsnaz. He would have known all about my past with Daria.

“She’s dead,” he announced, with zero emotion.

I slid my gaze toward him, meeting his sky blue eyes with a blank expression. If he meant to shock me with his blunt delivery of the news, it didn’t work. “Such a pity. How?”

“Someone stabbed her in the middle of the masquerade.”

“Someone,” I repeated flatly before taking another drag off my cigarette. It could have been him or any number of people. Hell, her murderer could have been hired help, a one-time gig that ended with their throat slit and their body crushed in a junkyard somewhere. I’d never get an admission, nor did I want one, just as long as “someone” wasn’t trying to lay the blame at my door.

He shifted forward, his head tilting to one side again. “You two had a history, no?”

The very thought resulted in a sneer on my face. “If you could call it that.”

“I take it you didn’t part on good terms?”

“She fucked me. And then she fucked me over. Now she’s dead.” I shrugged, making a concerted effort not to let any more of my anger show. I didn’t want to rouse his suspicions anymore than I obviously had. “Why are you bringing her up?”

“I was the reason she was there. She was my plus one. And I don’t have to tell you how bad it looks when your date winds up murdered.”

“Do the police have a suspect? Other than you?”

“You, from what I heard. But the witnesses have conflicting stories so there are no real leads.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” I drained half of my drink in one go. There was obviously no point in lying about being there since the police had gone and confirmed it for him.

“Is there something you need to tell me, Sasha?”

“No.”

He smiled and stroked along the side of his jaw. “You answered that awfully fast.”

“I didn’t fucking kill her,” I snapped, turning to face him fully. “And if this is some attempt at getting me to take the fall for you, you’ve got another thing coming. I will not go back to prison, Misha. Under any circumstances. And I’ll kill whoever I have to to make sure that doesn’t fucking happen.”

Laying a hand on my chest lightly, he gave me another small smile, his voice lowering. “I could never ask you to do that. Not when I know about your life away from here, with Roan. That’s not what this is about.”

Even though the music was loud, I still glanced around to make sure no one heard him. I couldn’t believe he was being so reckless. It didn’t matter Sergei knew and gave his tacit blessing, I didn’t need the whispers on the streets undermining my every move.

Sweeping his hand off my chest, I turned back to the counter and inhaled another long drag off the cigarette. I expelled the smoke sharply before asking the question that had been gnawing at me since the night before. “How did she sink her claws into you, anyway?”

He mirrored my position, twisting his glass in small circles on the bar top. “She came to us for help a while back. Out of respect for her father, we took care of it. We got her out of Russia and set up here.”

“That’s a lot of effort for someone who is of no use to you.”

He shrugged. “Different people serve different purposes. My only hope is that Kazimir listens to reason before going on a massacre.”

I shot him a skeptical look. The words “Kazimir” and “reason” did not belong in the same sentence.

“You do know he’s out of prison, don’t you?” Misha arched a blond brow.

“I might have heard something like that.”

“And when he comes here?”

“What makes you think he’s coming here?”

“Because you’re here,” Misha said simply.

“Think he’s coming to apologize?” I smirked, earning me a chuckle in return.

“I doubt that very much.”

Shrugging, I threw back the rest of my drink. Never in a million years would I expect an apology from a Belov. But after everything that happened, I sure as hell expected a bullet in the back. I’d have to be twice as careful moving forward.

“Now, the real reason I called you,” Misha said, slipping a piece of paper out of his inner pocket and sliding it across the bar top. “The boss has a task that needs to be done tonight. Take Valery with you. Make it messy. Very messy. We don’t want people asking questions.”

I picked up the paper and furrowed my brow at the address and the instructions scrawled beneath it. Normally I didn’t question the order. It didn’t matter to me who I killed or why. But this time felt… different.

He nodded sagely, without me even having to ask the question.

I did anyway, in the hope I was wrong. “All of them? Some of them are brand new. They barely have any connection to us.”

Misha nodded again. “Sergei said all.”

“But what about the owner?”

“All, Sasha.” His voice took on an edge I didn’t typically hear. For the briefest moment he looked equally unsure of what he was asking, but we both had orders. Not following wasn’t an option.

Nodding, I stubbed the cigarette out in the bottom of the glass. I glanced across the club, scanning the crowd before whistling sharply. As soon as Valery looked up, his dark gaze pinpointing me quickly, I tossed my head toward the door.

Before I stepped away, Misha’s hand caught my arm, pulling me in close. “Watch yourself.”

Giving him another nod despite my furrowed brow, I slipped out of his grasp and pocketed the list. Not that I needed it.

Valery joined me as I cut through the busy club. Two men of our stature had little difficulty making our way to the front and out onto the sidewalk.

“Where are we going?” Valery asked, matching my strides as we headed toward my Mercedes.

“Across town.”

“Did he say why?”

“To clean up someone else’s fucking mess. Why else?”

Valery shrugged. “I didn’t know if it had anything to do with that dead broad from last night.”

I stopped short, throwing my forearm across his chest. “Why the fuck do you think this would be related?”

He glanced down at my arm before answering. “I don’t. It was a guess.”

Stepping closer, my eyes narrowed as they swept over him. “Pretty specific guess. Why were you there last night, anyway?”

He cocked his head, a challenging little smirk on his face. “Why was I where, Sasha?”

Fisting a handful of his shirt, I swung him backward and slammed him into the closest building. I shoved my forearm up under his throat and unholstered my gun at the same time his hand disappeared behind his back.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I growled, jamming the barrel into his pelvis. “Now answer the question.”

He withdrew his empty hand slowly, putting both of them up for me to see. “I went with Misha.”

“Daria went with Misha.”

He straightened, lifting his chin slightly. “I didn’t realize you knew her.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her. What were you doing there? Do not make me ask again.” I pressed harder with the gun, angling it downward against his body. Even if his dick survived the shot, the internal workings would be so fucked up it would still be useless — if he didn’t bleed out first.

He expelled a short breath before caving. “I drove them. Ok? That’s it.”

“Where was Anton?”

“I don’t know. Misha called me last minute, told me to pick him up. Then we went to the Birchwick Hotel and picked up the woman. I dropped them off and stayed with the car. I didn’t go in until the cops showed up. That’s all I know.”

I didn’t believe that was the extent of it, but it was at least enough for me to go on. Withdrawing my gun slowly, I returned it to its holster once I knew Valery wouldn’t do anything stupid. “If I find out you lied to me, I’ll make you wish we never met.”

“You know my orders come from Misha. Same as you. So the question you should be asking isn’t if you trust me — do you trust Misha?”

There was something in his eyes, in his voice, something that couldn’t be faked. It was the truth and it made my insides twist sharply, like I’d swallowed razor blades. I lowered my arm from his throat and stepped away, resuming the trek toward my SUV.

Valery posed a fair question and I was disheartened to realize I didn’t have an immediate answer. Did I trust Misha? He saved me. He saved Roan. He knew we had the jump drive, yet he didn’t tell Sergei. He knew we were queer, yet he didn’t tell Sergei. With my swift and sudden promotion to his inner circle, I could safely say he’d advocated for me, vouched for me, and insisted I walk out of that room alive. Would he go through all of that trouble, risking his own life, only to turn around and fuck me over now?

I wanted to say he wouldn’t, but I honestly had no idea. Coupled with the suspicions I had about Daria’s murder, I was even less sure of Misha’s motives.

But all of that would have to wait. Valery and I were about to unleash a bloodbath and I couldn’t let myself be distracted.

Although, the thought of what was to come left me with a strange, unsettled feeling. Why, I had no idea. My victims were countless — including varying levels of friends and acquaintances. People I liked were always the hardest, but I knew it had to be done. There wasn’t a switch inside my head that controlled my feelings; they weren’t something I turned on and off when it came to shit like this. No, it was much more basic than that. It was either them, or me.

I chose me.

Things like feelings and friendships didn’t matter at the end of the day. It was kill or be killed and unfortunately for everyone on this list, Sergei decided their time was up.

17

ROAN

I WAS STILL awake when Sasha came home. It was a little after ten, which was early by his standards. That, more than anything, had me concerned.

Setting my bow and violin down, I walked out of the guest room. We ended up meeting in the hall while he was on his way to the master bedroom. One look and I immediately jerked to a halt.

Sasha was covered in blood. Not just his hands, like usual — although they were stained from a poor attempt at wiping them off — he had it everywhere. Splatters on his face, his shirt, a giant patch blooming across his abdomen and the tops of his thighs, like he had to hold someone down while... something awful happened. I didn’t even want to imagine what it was.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, moving past me without even slowing down. A strange combination of blood, cigarette smoke, and a potent sugary scent wafted over me. Minus the blood, I’d smelled that smell before — whenever he came back from hanging out with Eduard at any number of strip clubs in the area.

“What happened?” I forced myself to follow him, steering clear when he ripped the weapons off of his body and threw them on the top of the dresser before rushing into the bathroom.

“I need to change.”

“What happened, Sasha?”

“Please don’t ask me that.”

The “please” hit me hard. It was as rare and precious as the word “love” when it came to him. I could safely count the number of times he said those words on one hand — combined. The “please,” more than the blood, made my heart stammer painfully in my chest. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t tell you,” he said, bracing his bloody palms against the sink and hanging his head. “And I can’t lie to you anymore.”

Swallowing down my reservation, I padded closer. As soon as he looked up, I took his face between my hands. Dried or not, a wave of queasiness rolled through my stomach when my palms touched some of the blood. “Sasha… What happened?”

“I’m going to Hell.” The tremble in his voice was unmistakable, along with the haunted look in his eyes. I couldn’t remember a time he had ever looked distraught when he came home from “work.” Normally he looked annoyed, or tired. But this version of him? It scared me more than when he was pissed off.

I had no idea what to do to even try to bring him some kind of comfort or reassurance. What were you supposed to say to someone in a situation like this? Oh, sorry you feel bad for torturing someone, I can only imagine how much that sucks. Yeah, right. So not appropriate.

In the wake of my silence, Sasha slipped away from me and disappeared back into the bedroom.

Rooted to the spot, I stared at the flakes of dry blood on my hands. Despite my attempt to think clearly, my imagination created one horrific scenario after the other. Was it the person Sasha was so upset about? Or the manner in which he violently ended their life? I honestly couldn’t think of any situation — or person — he would give a second thought to. Unless it was someone close to him? But other than me, that really only left Eduard. Or Misha. Fuck...

Plastic rustling snapped me out of my terrible theorizing. Sasha reappeared with a garbage bag in hand. He stripped out of all of his clothes, bloody or not, and stuffed them into the bag before tossing it in the sink.

“Are you ok? Really?” I asked, knowing damn well he wouldn’t give an honest answer.

“I’m normal.” Typical… “I need to shower.”

I wasn’t going to argue with him, nor was I going to push. If leaving him alone was the only thing I could do for him, then that’s what I’d do, even if it killed me.

Closing the bathroom door, I returned to the guest room with every intention of picking up where I’d left off.

Absentmindedly rosining my bow, my mind drifted again. Of all the things Sasha had done, nothing ever seemed to upset him. Until now. What would make a man like that actually be upset? He chopped people up for a living. He wasn’t sentimental or nostalgic. He didn’t live in a world of gray. It was black and white. Period.

I didn’t even realize how much time passed until Sasha appeared in the doorway, dressed in a fitted t-shirt and sweats. He had the garbage bag in his hand, hanging limply at his side.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked.

No. No the fuck I did not. I didn’t want to know what his plans were for that bag. I didn’t want to know anything that would make me an accomplice to whatever it was he did for Sergei. I wanted to live in a bubble of deniability for as long as humanly possible, in spite of the shit I’d already seen.

But Sasha didn’t ask for anything. Ever. So I nodded and set my bow back in the case.

He led the way out of the apartment and to the elevator.

I thought we might go to the basement, where he and the other Russians had their own mini Fight Club “training” area. Surprisingly, we went up — to the roof.

In the summertime, the roof was usually jam-packed with people throwing all sorts of parties. Thankfully no one was up here, otherwise there was no telling what Sasha would do to get them to leave. Best case scenario, take their head off. Worst case? The cops would be scraping up bits and pieces from the sidewalk after a thirty-story swan dive.

We made our way over to one of the elaborate fire pits, the sounds of the city drifting lazily across the night sky. Tossing the bag into the pit, Sasha retrieved a bottle of lighter fluid and a box of matches from one of the outdoor storage boxes. A moment later, the bag went up in flames, crinkling and smoking. The solemnity of the situation reminded me of a funeral pyre. I just wished I knew who I was supposed to be mourning.

I laced my fingers through his, still not knowing what the fuck I was supposed to say. So I said the only thing I’d want to hear if the tables were turned. “I love you. Whatever it is, I love you.”

His head angled toward me slowly, the flames glinting in his eyes. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew.”

“Yes, I would.”

“No. You’ll hate me.”

“If I was going to hate you, I would have hated you before.” I squeezed his hand gently, leaving out that whole kidnapping part of our relationship. It’s not like either of us needed the reminder. Especially not now. “I love you no matter what, Sasha.”

He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the curve of my shoulder. I didn’t expect him to speak. He was barely breathing as it was. Each one came in hitched and left just as ragged, his hands clenching the back of my hoodie. Well, technically his hoodie.

“I know you’re only doing what you have to,” I said, running my fingers through the longer part of his hair and down the fade to the nape of his neck. “For both of us.”

We stood like that for several moments, me stroking his hair and him simply breathing at a slower, more even pace. Even then, I didn’t think he was going to speak and I was ok with that. I was used to that. So when he did, I immediately wished I never asked what happened.

“I killed someone tonight,” he said, picking his head up and pulling me in close so he was staring over my shoulder. “A lot of people, actually. But this woman in particular… You could have called her my friend. She’s the one who warned me when you were — when they... Fuck!” He swallowed hard, squeezing me even harder. “She helped me, and I fucking killed her! Her and her baby.”

“What?” I couldn’t have heard that right. He was mumbling. I was tired. It was windy. The fire was crackling too loud. There were a thousand reasons he couldn’t have said what he just said, and one very sickening reality — he was telling the truth.

He staggered away from me and dropped onto the edge of a chair, staring at the fire. “She owned a club across town. My old crew used to operate out of there. Lada knew things. Heard things. Sergei said she had to go. Her and all of the girls. Fine, no problem. It’s the cost of doing business. We all know that.”

I sank to my knees in front of him, holding onto his thighs and willing him to look at me.

He didn’t. Even though I was right in front of him, he made it his mission to avoid looking me in the eye. For the first time, I realized how utterly frustrating it was when you were trying to connect and the other person absolutely refused to.

“But then we got there,” he continued, his breaths coming faster, “and Lada said she was pregnant. She begged me to spare her, at least until after the baby was born. I tried. I called Misha. Misha said he’d already fought with Sergei over it, which is why he was late. He said Sergei didn’t care. I tried anyway. It was a risk, but I called Sergei myself. Sergei said she was her a lying whore and told me it was in my best interest to do my job.” He swallowed again, his fist clenching so tightly the veins popped on the back of his hand. “So I did.”

I laid my hand over his, but he didn’t even look like he registered the touch. In that moment, he wasn’t with me. He was back in that club, reliving whatever horrific things he’d done, just like when he told me about his other friend, the one he’d beaten to death for being gay.

When Sasha spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. It made my stomach twist painfully, anticipating the horror that was to come.

“I found one of those pictures. The kind they give you at the doctor’s. It was in her office. She wasn’t lying. Which means I—”

I shushed him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him against me. “Don’t say it. You were doing your job, Sasha. You didn’t know.”

“I did know.”

“No, you didn’t. You couldn’t.”

“She told me. She begged me.”

I pulled back, taking his face between my hands and forcing him to look at me. “What would have happened if you refused the order?”

“Roan…” He exhaled a sharp breath, his gaze dropping.

“No, be honest. She was dead the minute Sergei said so. If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else. Someone else who might not have cared, someone else who might have done worse things to her. And then that someone would have come for me.”

His icy gaze snapped up, narrowing in the firelight.

“You know it’s true,” I said, caressing the side of his face. “They know I’m your weakness. You don’t give a shit about dying, you made that clear to all of them. But they know the extremes you’ll go to for me. As long as I’m around, I’m a liability to you.”

He flinched, pulling out of my hands and staring at me like I slapped him. “What? What are you saying?”

It was my turn to swallow, trying to dislodge the fear from my throat. I’d opened the door, now it was time to fucking walk through it. “If it makes things easier for you, I’ll go. That way you don’t have to worry about me.”

He shook his head, anger hardening the sharp planes of his face as he rose to his feet. “You think that will make things easy for me? Nothing about my life has been fucking easy, Roan. Not even you. You’re the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met. This is why I should have never told you anything.” He spun away from me, marching back toward the stairwell.

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy? Why? Because I’m trying to understand you and your fucked-up life?” I strode after him, keeping just enough distance between us so he couldn’t turn around and punch me quite so easily. “Or because I remind you that you’re fucking human?”

Not surprisingly, he ignored me and kept going, jogging down the stairs. He bypassed the floor for the elevator, probably hoping I wouldn’t want to follow him down twenty flights of stairs. Frankly, I was still surprised he kept underestimating me after all this time. I’d follow him to Hell and back if that’s what it took to get something through his thick-ass head.

“I asked because I’ve never seen you like this,” I said, keeping pace with him. “You come home covered in blood all the time and don’t even bat an eye. You are a fucking master at keeping everything inside, but it’s killing you, Sasha!

“Do I like what you do for a living? Fuck no I don’t, but I’m not stupid. I know you’re doing what you have to because you don’t have a fucking choice. You never did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry they pigeonholed you into being the Wolf. I’m sorry you have to hide who you are. I’m sorry for being a pain in your ass. But I’m not fucking sorry for caring about you!”

He stopped on one of the landings and stepped toward me. I stayed on the bottom stair, taking advantage of the fact I was slightly taller than him for the time being.

“How can you care,” he asked, grudgingly looking up at me, “knowing what you know?”

“Because I love you. I love all of you. The good, the bad, and the fucking ugly. Just like you love me.”

He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head and glaring at the corner of the stairwell.

“What was that, grumpy?” I asked, raising my brows.

“I’m not grumpy,” he huffed, his gaze flicking back to me. “And I said I don’t deserve you.”

I rested my hands on his shoulders and pressed my forehead to his with a sigh. “Don’t be stupid.” There was no point in arguing with him, let alone trying to explain that love was one of those things in life that was supposed to be given freely, unconditionally. And for reasons I couldn’t answer, I loved him with all of my heart.

He slipped his hands beneath my shirt, running up my sides slowly. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

Grunting some sort of acknowledgment, he hugged my waist, pressing his cheek against my chest. I wrapped my arms around him, fully content to stand there for as long as it took for him to feel better. Even just a smidge.

“Let’s go home,” I murmured as he pulled away a few minutes later. “Watch a movie. Relax. Try not to think about any of this.”

“Only if I get to pick the movie.”

“I think the first one back gets to pick. I mean, those are the rules…”

He quirked a brow at me right as I shoved past him and took off down the stairs.

“No more dwarves!” he yelled, chasing after me.

“Just listen to the music!”

“If you want to listen to the music, put on the soundtrack!”

I was almost to our floor, about a flight and a half ahead of him, when Sasha appeared out of nowhere. He sailed in from the opposite side of the stairs and landed in a crouch in front of me, blocking the door. Breathing hard, he looked up at me with a wolfish smirk.

“What the fuck kind of Jason Bourne shit was that?” I gaped at him before looking up the center of the stairwell to try and figure out his moves. We were on the tenth fucking floor. If he miscalculated that, he would have easily killed himself.

Getting to his feet slowly, something in his body popped and a wince flashed across his face. “No more dwarves.”

“Fuck the dwarves. Are you ok? How did you do that?” I slipped my arm around his waist while pulling his arm over my shoulder, a not so subtle hint to lean on me instead of toughing out whatever the hell he’d just injured.

“Practice.” Despite favoring his right leg, he still moved out of the stairwell and down the hall pretty quickly.

As much as I didn’t want to remember my time as his captive, this at least put one thing to rest for me — I never stood a chance escaping from him in that motel. Yeah, I would have gotten to the door first, and down the stairs first. But leaping vast distances wasn’t a deterrent to the Wolf. He would have crushed me, either on those stairs or the second I hit the ground. Maybe my subconscious hadn’t been a coward after all. It recognized a fucking predator and knew better than to mess with it.

“What other moves you got?” I waggled my brows at him, pushing the memories aside as we stopped in front of our apartment door.

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

Opening the door, I spun to face him, grabbing the front of his t-shirt. I bit my lip, walking backwards, yanking him inside with me. As soon as he crossed the threshold, my mouth was on him.

18

SASHA

THE NIGHT of Feodor’s newest show arrived, after months and months of preparation, listening to Roan play the same damn pieces again and again and again. I was beyond ready to hear something new, at least for a little while.

I stuffed myself into an all-black tux and kept my grumbling to an absolute minimum since Roan was flitting around the apartment on the verge of collapse.

“What if they hate it?” Roan asked for the hundredth time, fumbling with his cufflink.

I plucked it out of his hand and worked it through the slit, securing it in place. “They won’t hate it.”

“You’ve been to the rehearsals. What do you think?” His eyes were particularly blue, filled with equal parts worry and hope.

I didn’t know the first thing about music, but I knew I liked hearing him play. He truly had a talent for performing, even though Feodor hired him as a composer, not a violinist.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I managed to spit out, adjusting his bow tie. “Feodor likes it. You like it. That’s all that matters. Fuck everyone else.”

“You’re not really good at pep talks, you know that?”

I ignored the dig and tapped my watch.

He angled my wrist toward him and swore, tearing out of the bedroom.

Two seconds later, he was back, his hand on his nose.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, discreetly holstering a gun underneath my tux jacket.

“I forgot my nose ring.”

“Leave it. No one cares.”

“It’s the Adler. People care.”

“Feodor knows what you look like. Besides, it’s sexy.” I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, marching him back to the living room as fast as I could while my right knee throbbed. It hadn’t been right ever since the stunt I pulled in the stairwell the other day, but I’d be damned if I let Roan know that. “We’re leaving or you’re going to be late.”

For once, he didn’t argue.

He practically buzzed in the seat next to me the entire way to the theater, muttering, humming, hands gesturing through a series of musical ranges. I didn’t dare interrupt whatever process this was, so I kept my mouth shut and drove as quickly as I could. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could maybe take a full breath. Or a shot of something.

That hope was dashed the second we stepped inside the door. Kelly, Feodor’s assistant, was waiting for us. She grabbed his sleeve and dragged him to the side. “It’s about time!”

“What’s wrong? Is everything ok? Did they cancel the show?” Roan asked, his brow furrowed.

“Leonard is in the hospital. Of course he had to have a fucking heart attack today, of all days,” she hissed, taking a step closer to him as people bustled around backstage. “We need a conductor.”

“Me?” Roan practically squeaked the question. He looked at me, his eyes as big as saucers, but all I could do was shrug. Swallowing, he turned back to her, shaking his head. “I’m not a conductor, Kelly!”

“You’re the composer. Literally no one knows the music better than you do. And besides, you said you did it before.”

“In college! Not for a theater full of patrons and critics!”

“You’ll be great. Come on!” She tugged his sleeve again, dragging him a step in the direction she wanted.

“But, I…” He looked back at me and I could see the panic written all over his face.

I gave him a terse nod, willing him to believe in his talents as much as the rest of the world did. “Don’t be stupid, Solnyshko.”

He bit his lips, nodding, apparently understanding the underlying message. “Don’t be a dick, Sash.”

I couldn’t help but smile as he disappeared into the darkness behind the stage with Kelly.

Now, time to locate some vodka to make it through the next three hours of my life.

BY THE REACTION of the audience, I’d say the show was a success. They clapped and cheered and showered the stage with flowers. Feodor looked beyond pleased when he came out for his moment in the spotlight, inclining his head to the audience and curling into a slight bow, his hand on his heart.

When the time came, Roan took a bow of his own before his gaze lifted to the box seat we were supposed to be occupying together. He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and raised his hand toward me, a radiant smile on his face. I couldn’t have been any fucking prouder of him.

I slipped out of the box and made my way down the curved staircase in the front lobby. Swinging by the front office, I knocked on the open door, tipping my chin up at Polina in greeting. I guess hanging around the theater all these weeks had its perks, since I was able to cash in a favor for tonight.

She spun away from her laptop with a smile. Picking up a bouquet wrapped in brown paper, she closed the distance, holding it out to me. “They’re beautiful, Sasha.”

I nodded, taking the bouquet and counting the dark red roses quickly. Twenty-five. Perfect. “See you later.”

“Have a good night.” She shut the door after me and I navigated my way through the crowd of exiting patrons, slowly making my way toward the front of the auditorium.

Roan was on the steps at the side of the stage, talking enthusiastically with someone. When the man turned, I saw it was that fucking lighting director — Samuel. Grinning and nodding at whatever Roan was saying, he lifted one hand, like he was going to touch Roan’s shoulder. At the last second, he shoved it back into his pocket.

I lengthened my strides, crushing the bouquet so hard the thorns pierced through the paper. I’d convinced myself to wait until after the show was over before making my presence known, so nothing would ruin tonight for Roan. Unfortunately for Samuel, his time was up.

Roan’s gaze shifted past Samuel, landing on me. He was fucking glowing, eyes bright and face flushed — he was so Roan. The embodiment of warmth and sunlight and happiness. My heart skipped a beat just looking at him.

“Sasha!” He darted down the stairs, past Samuel, and pushed through the crowd to get to me.

I scooped Roan up into a hug at the same time he threw his arms around my neck, squeezing me tightly. He was a sweaty mess, his bowtie and collar undone and his hair plastered to his forehead, but I didn’t care. I’d take him any way he came. From the glare Samuel shot in my direction, I was sure he felt the same way, which was a problem that would most certainly be addressed at the next available opportunity.

“I did it!” Roan cried, grabbing my face between his hands. “I fucking did it!” Grinning, he pulled my face toward his, kissing me right there, in front of everyone. We were in a theater full of Russians and Sergei had his rules, but Roan needed this, this moment. After everything, he needed to be happy again. And Samuel needed to know he didn’t stand a fucking chance as long as I was alive. So, I risked life and limb to kiss Roan back — publicly.

“I’m so proud of you, Solnyshko,” I said when I pulled away, caressing the side of his face.

He beamed at me before glancing down. “Oh my God. Did you buy me flowers?”

“Of course.” I transferred the bouquet to his arms, inwardly pleased when his smile got that much brighter.

“Roan!” A female voice called out behind us.

The smile vanished and he went rigid, staring past my shoulder. “Mom?”

Fuck me… I turned slowly, Roan’s fingers threading through mine, and scanned the crowd. Sure enough, Laurel was there, holding a program with tears glistening in her eyes. “You were wonderful, honey! I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat, glancing around the immediate area. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

He scoffed. I squeezed his hand lightly.

“Let me take you to dinner,” she continued with a bright smile, either because she didn’t hear him or because she, too, was an expert at faking politeness. “To celebrate.”

“Sorry, we already have plans,” he said, cutting a look in my direction.

Oh, thank God. The last thing I’m sure either of us wanted was to have his mother ruining what was supposed to be a memorable night. My reservations at a ridiculously overpriced restaurant downtown were for two — not three.

“Oh, ok. Well, maybe another time, if you’re free. You can always text me, whenever.” She turned to go, practically pouting.

He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Mom, wait.”

She whipped back around, smiling hopefully.

No, Roan… don’t do it. Do not be a good person right now. Do not—

“Why don’t you come with us?”

Fuck! Why? Why?!

He squeezed my hand and I forced a minuscule smile to my face.

FOR BEING LATE, the restaurant was still bustling. Silverware clinked on china and there was a constant hum of conversation. All of it grated on my nerves.

“So... this is nice,” Laurel said with the fakest smile I’d ever seen. She kept smoothing out the same crease in the tablecloth, over and over and over.

Roan snorted some sort of agreement, drawing lines in the condensation on his glass of water.

Laurel cleared her throat and turned to address me. “Do you work at the theater too, Sasha?”

Was she fucking kidding me? Did I look like I worked for a fucking theater? “No.”

“He’s in private security,” Roan said offhandedly. It wasn’t a terrible lie, but I was surprised he came up with it so quickly. Unless that’s how he justified my “job” in his brain. It sounded a lot better than trying to describe what I actually did, at any rate.

To avoid being pressed for any further details, I took a sip of my vodka.

Laurel smiled. “How nice. Too bad Roan didn’t know you a few months ago. You sure would have come in handy during that bank robbery.”

The vodka slid down the back of my throat prematurely. A trail of fire snaked down the center of my body, right into my lungs. Sucking in a breath, I tried to stifle a cough as quietly as I could, despite the fact my eyes watered so much I couldn’t even see.

Roan slapped me on the back. “Breathe!”

Turning away from him, I coughed behind my closed fist, inhaling a little bit of air at a time. Of all the ways I imagined I would die, choking to death while dining with my lover’s mother was not on the fucking list.

“So, um, how did you two meet?” Laurel asked, glancing between us.

Roan didn’t answer right away. He kept rubbing small circles on my back, his brow creased. Apparently once he was convinced I wasn’t going to drown in vodka at the table, he looked at his mother again. “We, um… On campus, actually. It’s a long story. Pretty boring, really. Right, Sash?”

“Boring,” I ground out, nodding in agreement and swallowing thickly, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

“Well, I think it’s nice you found someone older than you for a change. More settled. You’ve always needed someone mature, honey. Not like Pierce.” Laurel sighed, shaking her head.

“Mom...”

“Or Wyatt.”

“Mom.”

“Or that one boy who—”

“Mother!”

Laurel blinked, tilting her head, her diamond and pearl earrings swaying with the movement. “You don’t have to yell, Roan. I’m right here.”

“Can we not talk about this?” He lowered his voice, saying a hell of a lot more than the words that actually came out of his mouth. To emphasize his point, he threw a cautious glance at me and startled when he realized I was watching him. Oh, there were questions alright. There were a lot of questions.

Before any of us could speak again, Phillip Sinclair’s voice broke the tension. “What the fuck, Laurel?”

She spun in her chair, beaming up at her husband with an extra dose of fake positivity. “Phillip! I’m so glad you made it.”

“Mom?” Again, Roan’s tone was loaded with a hundred more things than what he actually said.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Phillip asked, his glare landing on me.

“Him?” Roan scoffed, throwing the look right back at his father. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I thought this was a dinner with Fritz and Anita,” he snarled, turning his wrath back to his wife.

“Phillip, please. Just sit. Let’s celebrate as a family. Roan had a—”

“A family?!” Phillip interrupted, his gaze whipping back to Roan and I. “Great. So not only is my son fucking gay, he’s decided to embarrass himself even further by slumming with criminals. Won’t that make a great picture for the Christmas card?”

Standing slowly, I pushed my chair out and smoothed the front of my jacket. I heard Roan whisper “Oh shit,” as I circled the table and stopped in front of his father, drawing myself up to my full height. “I will only say this one time, so listen to me carefully. If you ever disrespect him again, I’ll rip your fucking tongue out.”

Phillip’s upper lip curled and he swayed closer with every word. “Oh, am I supposed to be afraid of you? You think because you’re covered in prison tats and have a Russian accent that you’re scary? You clearly have no idea who the fuck I am. And you? You’re nothing. Your life is worth less than his, if that’s—”

I’d heard enough.

Without warning, I smashed my forehead into the bridge of his nose, silencing whatever venom he was about to unleash. Clearly the whole family had a problem listening or following orders, although in Roan’s case I’d learned to make an exception.

The surrounding tables gasped and silverware clattered.

Phillip swore loudly, clawing at the table for a cloth napkin to stop the river of blood gushing out of his face. I grabbed the back of his head and slammed his cheek against the table, heaving all of my weight on top of it.

Snatching the closest steak knife, I leaned down and held it in front of his face, twisting it so the blade caught the light. “Do you want to know what happened to the last man who didn’t listen to me? I peeled his face off while he was still alive. Keep it up and you’ll lose more than your fucking tongue.”

“Sasha, don’t,” Roan said softly. He was on his feet, holding his hands up, entreating me with every part of his expression. “Not here…”

“You’re going to regret this,” Phillip hissed, spitting blood all over the pristine table cloth.

“You first.” I stabbed downward as hard as I could. The steak knife bit into the table a centimeter from his nose. Laurel and a few other females shrieked.

Roan slipped his hand into mine and tugged me toward the door. “We gotta go. Now.”

It was easy enough to make our way through the restaurant. People scattered as soon as they saw us. Well, when they saw me, anyway.

Once we were outside and a safe distance away, Roan jerked me to a halt. Before I could even ask what he was doing, he pushed me up against the building and his mouth was on mine. As soon as my lips parted, his tongue slid in, circling mine and tracing the roof of my mouth, the lines of my teeth, anywhere he could in a desperate frenzy.

One of his hands slid down my chest, along my abdomen, and straight to my rapidly hardening cock. He gripped it through my trousers, stroking it while grinding his own hard-on against my thigh.

A very unpleasant image of Sergei popped into my head. It was bad enough I’d been affectionate with Roan at the theater, I didn’t need word getting back to my boss that I was seen getting jacked off in downtown Chicago by another guy.

Pushing him away as gently as I could, I swallowed, trying to catch my breath. “What was that for?”

“For being you.”

I didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean, but I basked in the radiance of his smile. For the second time that night, pride warmed the center of my chest.

“Let’s go home,” Roan said, intertwining his fingers with mine and leading the way down the sidewalk.

19

ROAN

“YOU MADE me drive an hour and a half to a farm?” Sasha groaned, climbing out of his Mercedes and slamming the door.

“Well, with the way you drive, it was more like an hour. And it’s not a farm, it’s an orchard.” I fell into step next to him, making our way through the unpaved parking lot toward the giant barn that housed the orchard’s main store.

“Same difference.”

“Can you please keep the commentary to a minimum? Today is supposed to be fun.”

Muttering something under his breath, Sasha stopped abruptly when a gaggle of children swarmed us. They laughed and shrieked and took off for the pumpkin patch while their harried parents chased after them, sputtering out apologies to us and every other person the kids mobbed.

He was going to kill me. I knew it. In the time we’d been together, the orchard checked off almost everything Sasha hated: people (specifically children), dirt, Halloween, and anything that brought a normal person joy, like apple pies and pumpkin candles.

Slipping my hand in his back pocket, I squeezed his ass through the denim. “It’s not like I asked you to come, you know. You’re the one who won’t let me out of your sight unless I have a fucking bodyguard.”

Sasha’s head whipped toward me, his icy eyes narrowed. “Has Ilya been a problem? Just tell me and I’ll—”

“No, he’s fine. Jesus!” The last thing I wanted was for my poor bodyguard to catch a beating or a bullet because Sasha was still being insanely overprotective.

“I’m just saying,” I continued with a huff. “I would have been more than happy to come here by myself and leave your grumpy ass in Chicago.”

“Why do you keep calling me grumpy? I’m not grumpy!” he snapped, not doing himself any favors.

“Yep. Just like you’re not gay.”

“Shut the fuck up!” He glanced around quickly and smacked my hand away from his ass, despite the fact it had already been there long enough for anyone to see we were clearly together. Or just super-close friends who liked to play grab-ass in the parking lot of a nice, family-friendly destination.

“Literally no one knows you here. We’re not doing any ‘gay shit’ where Sergei or anyone else can see,” I pointed out, opening the door to the barn and facing him with raised brows. His concern wasn’t entirely unfounded, but that was Chicago and this place was safely outside of Sergei’s realm. “I’m buying apple cider donuts and fucking pumpkin butter. Completely harmless.”

He made a face, nose wrinkled and lip curled. “Pumpkin butter?” He sounded out each word, like it was the first time he’d ever heard them. “You put pumpkin in the fucking butter? What is wrong with you people?”

“No, it’s not butter butter. Just… come on!” I stifled a sigh and led the way into the massive barn.

The inside was completely refurbished from what it used to be, jam-packed with people and every homey, country thing you could think of. Food, mostly, but also candles, decorations, books, clothing, and — hopefully the thing that would put my crabby Russian in a better mood — alcohol. It was like someone took the best things about Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas and crammed them into one, giant retail space. For four months out of the year this place was a fall/winter wonderland.

The scent of cinnamon and warm apples hit me the second I stepped inside. For a brief moment, I soaked in all the warm, cozy feels of my favorite season, wondering how the holidays with Sasha were going to go. I knew nothing about Russian Christmas traditions beyond what I Googled. After what happened at the restaurant, I highly doubted we’d be seeing my family for Thanksgiving or Christmas, not that those had ever been fun gatherings by any standard. So, it looked like Sasha and I were going to have to start our own tradition.

Meandering through the crowd, I stopped in front of a display of locally-grown honey. “The apple trees make it even better,” I said, holding a jar up for Sasha to see. “Bet it would taste really good in that layer-cake thing you like so much.”

Rolling his beautiful blue eyes, he snatched the jar and dropped it in a basket he picked up somewhere along the way. God, he was all talk... Outwardly he may have looked like he was enduring unspeakable suffering, but he picked up a basket, which meant he accepted the fact we were going to be here a while.

With a smug smile, I carried on, grabbing the seasonal essentials and depositing them in the basket. He kept his comments to himself, but the glares were unavoidable. I’m sure he didn’t see a need for any of the shit he was hauling around, but that’s probably because he’d never properly enjoyed all that America had to offer in the fall. If he thought this was bad, I couldn’t wait to see his face when I decorated for Christmas.

As soon as I had a cider slushy and a box of hot apple cider donuts, I released him from his misery and announced we were going to the car.

“Want one?” I asked as we strolled through the parking lot, offering him a cinnamon-sugar covered piece of heaven.

“No.”

“Are you just being difficult out of principle?”

He popped the hatch on his SUV and set the shopping bags inside before huffing out an answer. “No.”

Which really meant “Yes” and his stubborn ass would never admit it.

Tearing off a piece of the donut, I closed the distance and lifted it toward his mouth. “You know you want to...”

“I will bite you,” he snipped, leaning back and glaring at the innocent baked good like it was poisoned.

“Don’t flirt with me.” I grinned and bit my lower lip, inching the donut closer.

His pale gaze darted around quickly. The coast must have been clear, since he leaned forward and opened his mouth. His lips wrapped around my fingers and his tongue curled, taking possession of the donut while simultaneously licking away the remaining sugar from my fingers. Between his mouth and the smoldering look he gave me, any hope of discretion went right out the window. My dick sat up and took notice immediately and there was no way I was going to suffer through a case of blue balls the entire ride home, no matter how fast he drove.

Grabbing his hand, I yanked him away from the car, heading toward the pumpkins.

“Where are we going now?” His voice was rough, but for once he didn’t rip his hand away.

“You’ll see.”

We bypassed the pumpkin patch, the orchard, and the little petting zoo, heading for the corn maze. A CLOSED sign dangled from the rope in front of the entrance, which may as well have been a sign from up above. As crazy as the whole thing was, this was going to happen. I could feel it.

“Roan!” Sasha squeezed my hand, tugging me to a stop. “What are you doing?”

“You, in a minute,” I replied with a grin, stepping over the rope and pulling him into the maze.

It must have taken a moment for his brain to register what I said, because it wasn’t until we rounded the first bend that he tried to pull away. “Absolutely not!”

Ignoring his protest, I jerked him around another corner into a dead end with straw bales stacked into a bench. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

I didn’t wait for a response and I didn’t wait for him to make the first move. Twisting my hands in the front of his dark gray shirt, I yanked him forward, kissing him roughly. Despite his earlier declaration, his lips parted and his tongue met mine. Cinnamon was already one of my favorite flavors, but tasting it on his tongue took it to a whole new level.

My hands diverged on his chest. One slipped around the back of his neck, while the other went south, straight to his hard-on. Sasha groaned into the kiss when I grabbed him, rubbing his dick through the dark denim.

Tearing himself away from my mouth, he swore under his breath and pressed his lips along the side of my throat, alternating kisses with bites. A shiver raced down my spine, registering throughout my body like a jolt of electricity. I bit my lip to keep from moaning when he sucked the skin on my neck.

When he was done marking me with another goddamn hickey that I’d have to spend the next week trying to hide, he seized my face between his hands and kissed me again, his tongue resuming its earlier lashing.

Fumbling with his belt buckle, I managed to undo it and yank his zipper down. I slipped my hand in the front of his jeans and gripped the base of his cock, stroking him as best I could in the narrow confines of his clothing.

“Fuck, Roan.” He gritted his teeth and pressed his forehead to mine, his hips already thrusting into my hand. So much for “absolutely not.”

I dropped to my knees in front of him and tugged his jeans downward, releasing his dick to the warm, autumn sunshine. Licking my lips, I looked up with a little smirk. No surprise, he was watching me intently, his eyes burning with desire. I held his gaze as I leaned forward, sucking the crown of his cock into my mouth. Slowly, tortuously slow, I swallowed his entire length, massaging the underside with my tongue.

Running his fingers through my hair, he tangled them in the longer part, tightening now and again depending on what I was doing to him. His groaning and swearing was almost enough to make me come like a twelve year old. No matter how many times I gave him head, his reaction was always the same — this combination of lust, awe, and gratitude that left me preening my imaginary feathers for a job well done.

My smugness didn’t last long.

Out of nowhere, Sasha pulled me off his dick and up to my feet by the arms. Before I could ask what was wrong, his mouth slanted across mine, sucking and biting my lower lip in a frenzied kiss. My head was still spinning when he dropped in front of me, freeing my aching dick from its prison and immediately capturing it in his mouth. His tattooed hand worked up and down my length, while he swirled his tongue around the head.

I ran my fingers through his dark hair and closed my eyes, lost in the way his mouth felt wrapped around me. His rough palm, stroking me steadily, brought me closer and closer to losing it.

As if he knew he was about to send me over the edge, Sasha broke away and stood, a gleam in his blue eyes.

“I want you so fucking bad,” he growled between kisses, jerking our cocks together in his large hand.

“So what’s stopping you?” It wasn’t exactly fair. I knew damn well what was stopping him, but I didn’t care. My rational brain stopped functioning the minute he licked sugar off my fingers. It was in full-on primal mode and primal me wanted him — all of him.

“Solnyshko…” The corners of his eyes tightened, his little pet name coming out husky and strained.

“Don’t ‘Solnyshko’ me.” I took an exaggerated step backward toward the straw bench. “Get over here and put us both out of our misery.”

“We should go home, to a bed, if that’s what you really want.”

“What I really want is for you to stop talking and come fuck me.” Thankfully I had enough brain cells still working to keep the “like you used to” part to myself. The last thing I wanted right now was to think about that day. Besides, we’d been building up to this thanks to that stupid blue dildo. I would never admit to Frankie that her suggestion worked, but I was grateful it did. It helped get Sasha and I back on track. And this? This was the next step. No, the final step. The finish line.

Anger mixed with the lust in his eyes, a look I’d grown addicted to in the early days of our unconventional introduction to one another, back when I was nothing more than a means to an end for him and he was nothing more than the ruthless criminal who kidnapped me. To be clear, he was still a ruthless criminal, but somehow I became the single most important thing in his life. I don’t think either of us fully understood it, but at the end of the day we didn’t question it.

His pride wouldn’t let the challenge go unanswered. I threw the figurative gauntlet by ordering him around and there was no telling how he’d respond. If his anger won out, he’d literally throw me over his shoulder and carry me to the car, chewing me out the entire way for being a pain in his ass. If he gave into his desire, I might still get an earful after the fact, but at least we’d both be satiated.

To nudge him along, I lifted an eyebrow and gave him one of the little smirks I knew got under his skin, another display of the stubborn defiance he loved — and drove him fucking nuts.

In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance and kissed me, hard, before spinning me away from him and shoving me toward the straw bales. He spit on his hand and slipped it between my ass cheeks, tracing around the rim with a surprising amount of gentleness considering how he manhandled me a second prior.

Bracing my hands against the scratchy yellow blocks, I tried grounding myself like the fucking therapist taught me before the anxiety kicked in. The straw, the corn, Sasha. The wind, the sun, Sasha. Sasha was at the center of it all. I might have been his “little sun” (yeah, I Googled that too), but he was the gravity that kept me from spinning out into the blackness.

The first finger burned, like always. I bit my lip and closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe and focus on him, not the memories trying to creep in.

Sasha’s lips brushed over the back of my neck as he whispered all the things he never said any other time, sweet words full of praise and love, in English. Always in English. Aside from the nickname, I noticed he never spoke Russian directly to me anymore.

He turned my face toward him, kissing me over my shoulder while he slid his finger in and out slowly. Gradually, he picked up the rhythm, encouraged by me pushing back against him. After a bit, a second finger joined the first. I exhaled a sharp breath, the burning renewed.

His hand stilled and he kissed my face in light, feathery kisses. It was sweet — and it irritated me. We’d gone over this. I wasn’t fragile. I wasn’t going to break. If they couldn’t break me with all of their hate, there was no way he was going to break me with love.

I reached behind me and stroked his cock, making sure he wasn’t losing interest in what I was ultimately after. “Keep going.”

His lips parted. I could feel a protest on the tip of his tongue. Palming his balls, I massaged them for a moment and gave a not-so-subtle squeeze that made him gasp and then growl.

Shoving me forward onto my hands, he stepped on the outside of my feet, pausing again. When he lined his cock up with my hole, it was far more slippery than regular saliva. A second later, both a black piece of foil and a little blue packet drifted to the ground. Condom and lube. Good. That meant he wasn’t as against this as he was pretending to be, otherwise why the hell would he have those in his wallet?

I was one-hundred percent sure with my decision right up until his cock actually pushed into me. Then, I was mostly sure. With each second that passed, each millimeter he thrust deeper, that surety plummeted and the pain and anxiety skyrocketed. I tried to stop myself from trembling, just like I tried to breathe deeply.

The straw, the corn, Sasha.

The wind, the sun, Sasha.

Sasha, Sasha, Sasha.

Wrapping his arms around me, Sasha bent forward and propped his chin on my shoulder. His hips were flush with my ass, but he wasn’t moving at all. “Do you want me to stop?”

I shook my head, swallowing thickly. This was my idea and I was going to see it through, even if it was one of my worst decisions to date. He was right. We should have gone home, not attempted this in the middle of a damn corn maze, but I’d been too wrapped up in the moment and the thrill of doing it in a public space.

“No,” I managed to say, gripping his forearm with one hand while balancing with the other against the straw.

“Roan.”

“Sasha.” I flicked my hips, taking him in just that little bit more. I wanted this. Mentally, I wanted it. Emotionally, I wanted it. The physical part was as healed as it would ever be and needed to get with the fucking program.

It was either my stubbornness or the feeling of me pushing back against him, but he groaned instead of replying. Just like before with his fingers, he worked his cock in and out at a maddeningly slow pace. The burning subsided, as it always did, replaced by a fullness the blue dildo could never replicate. Feeling Sasha inside of me, hearing each little gasp he made, allowed me to finally relax and appreciate every stroke that hit the magical little spot inside.

He must have sensed the change in me, since he stood straight again and slid his hands down my back. One gripped my hip, while the other wrapped around my dick and jerked me off in tandem to his thrusts.

“God, I’ve fucking missed this,” I rasped, shifting my hips back to meet his, my fingers digging into the straw.

“Fuck, Roan. I’ve missed you,” he said, his hips snapping faster, driving himself deeper. “You feel so fucking good.”

Steadily, we returned to the way we used to be, which was nothing short of euphoria. His fingers were great, the dildo was fine, but his cock? Out of this world. It hit me in all the right places, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

My throat was dry from the panting and the fact the corn maze felt like it was a thousand degrees in the sunlight. I’m sure the particles of dust drifting lazily through the late afternoon rays didn’t help, either.

“Oh, God, Sasha.” I swallowed hard, meeting each of his thrusts with my own, eagerly chasing my release. “I’m going to fucking come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t stop.” I pushed his hand away from my dick and braced against the straw bales. His cock fucking me, his hand stroking me. It was too much right now, a whirlwind of sensations bordering on overwhelming and I didn’t want anything to take away from this moment.

“Harder,” I said, each pass against my prostate like a jolt of electricity.

Complying with my request, he grabbed my hips with both hands and fucked me so hard I saw stars. The pressure in my lower abdomen built and built until it exploded. I couldn’t help but cry out as cum shot out of me in fucking waves.

Sasha clamped a hand over my mouth, muffling the rest of my moaning until he himself doubled over and bit my shoulder to keep himself quiet. One, or both, of us was shaking so hard I thought for sure we were going to collapse.

Nuzzling the back of my head, he pulled out carefully and took a step backward. I exhaled a slow, steadying breath and tucked my dick back into my jeans, making sure everything looked presentable. By the time I turned around, Sasha was also cleaned up, throwing away the trash from earlier in a rusty barrel.

I swaggered over to him and hooked my fingers in his belt, pulling him against me. “So was it worth the drive?”

Instead of answering, he kissed me, nipping my bottom lip with a wolfish grin. I wrapped my arm around his waist and shoved my hand into his back pocket again, squeezing his ass.

He mimicked the motion as we walked back to the maze entrance. It was a good thing he remembered where we were going because I didn’t have a clue. If I was the one navigating, we’d probably end up further inside the maze.

Surprisingly, he didn’t yank away from me as soon as we were back in public view. There were more people now that it was later in the day, but he stayed right there, glued to my side until we reached his SUV. He even opened the door for me, which made me blush and grin like an idiot. Sometimes it was hard reconciling the different versions of him — the terrifying criminal who could literally peel someone’s face off and not even blink an eye and the gentlemen he could be when absolutely no one from his world was around.

“You know I love you,” Sasha said once we were in the car and making our way out of the parking lot.

“God, I love you too… You sweet, sugary, ring of goodness. I’m going to—”

He hit the brakes, his head whipping toward me.

I froze, my mouth hovering right above another cider donut. Raising my brows, I gave him a dazzling smile. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“I hate you,” he said, stomping on the gas. Once we were on the road, he reached for my hand, so I laid it flat against my thigh, waiting. Except, his hand kept going, headed toward my dick... or the box of donuts in my lap. He fished one out of the box and shot me a look out of the corner of his eye.

I gaped at him in faux outrage. “Thief.”

“You know I am.” Taking a bite, he threw me a smirk and turned the car eastbound for Chicago.

Laughing, I moved the box of donuts to the backseat and rested my elbow on the center console, draping my hand across his thigh. “You want to come back next week? We can get some pumpkins for the balcony. Oh, and we can pick apples.”

“You want to pick your own apples instead of buying them from the store?” He snorted and shook his head. “Only if you make a cake with them.”

“Uh, no. A pie. We’re in America, you heathen.”

He made a face at me. “Who wants a pie? A cake is better. And you can use the fucking honey I just paid an arm and a leg for.”

“It’s organic and locally grown,” I replied with an angelic smile, as if that completely justified the outrageously priced goo.

He rolled his eyes, taking another bite out of the donut, probably in an attempt to stifle whatever comeback was circling his head.

“You know I love you,” I quoted, running my fingers through his hair and caressing the close-cut part toward the bottom where it faded to bare skin.

Leaning over, he stole a quick kiss. “I know.”

20

SASHA

EDUARD CALLED RIGHT as I pulled up in front of a shitty looking two-story on the South Side. I parked the van in front of the vacant house next door and answered, flicking my cigarette out the window.

“Where are you?” Eduard asked.

“Out.”

“Can you talk?”

“Why?”

“Kazimir Belov landed in New York three hours ago.”

My eyes rolled skyward and I swore silently. “Where is he now?” Three hours might not have seemed like a lot of time, but it was. He could be practically anywhere, by any means of transportation. Tracking all of the planes, trains, and cars out of New York would be nearly impossible.

“No one knows.”

“Fuck...”

“I’m keeping an eye on his financials. As soon as I know something, I’ll call you. Misha’s looking for him too, by the way. He’s not very happy.”

“Because of Daria?”

“Oh, I’m sure. At least the police have stopped asking questions.”

“Has there been any movement on that front?”

“All I know is whoever it was, was a goddamn professional. I’ve run into nothing but dead ends. We still don’t know why she was even killed. So keep your head down until I call you.”

“Mhmm.” I hung up and tucked the phone in my pocket.

Now that Kazimir was officially in the States, he’d have to become my main priority. But until Eduard could get me a location, I still had enough time to deal with another problem that was long overdue.

Stepping out of the van, I walked around to the rear doors and grabbed a sledge axe. Spinning it comfortably in my hand, I smiled appreciatively at the tool and slung it over my shoulder, heading toward the back of the house.

Climbing the uneven stairs to the back porch, I glanced around casually, like I had every right to be there. Given the fact it was a regular morning in the average person’s world, most of the surrounding neighbors were at work, along with the occupant of the house.

Seeing no one, I rammed the top of the sledge axe into the middle rail of the door, right next to the knob. The old wood splintered and swung open.

I waited a minute to see if anyone came flying out from the interior. When it was safe to assume I was alone, I stepped into the house, looking around with a wrinkled nose.

Arguably, it was better than some of the shitholes I’d lived in over the years, but there was no way in hell it would ever be good enough for Roan. Not that that would be an issue... It was still the principle of the matter. If you’re stupid enough to poach on another man’s territory, you better be able to provide a better life, otherwise it was just insulting.

Swiping the iPad off the coffee table, I sank onto the couch and flipped the cover open. He didn’t even have it locked. Moron. Eduard had provided plenty of material during the initial background, but I needed to know exactly what I was dealing with.

Tapping open the message icon, I didn’t have to scroll far to get to Roan’s name. He was right there at the top — right under MOM. I hated this guy even more.

It took a while, but eventually I made it to the top of their chat. It started a few months ago, when Roan started working at the Adler. It looked like they’d only swapped numbers for work purposes, since Roan’s first message was merely a peace sign emoji. Then Samuel got his oh-so-important promotion to lighting director and their communications increased, at least on Samuel’s end. Most of the conversations appeared to be initiated by him, but there were a few from Roan about the most random things. Harmless things.

Eventually the “work chat” moved to coffee orders and planning lunches. Gossiping during what appeared to be creative meetings with the other directors. Comments during rehearsals. A slew of memes from Samuel to Roan, making references to theater shit and inside jokes. All innocent, at least on Roan’s part, since there were five messages from Samuel for every one he sent in return.

At one point in the conversation, Samuel must have seen me since he asked who “that dude with all the tattoos” was. Other than Misha, I was the only heavily-tattooed visitor to the theater and Misha’s were mostly hidden beneath expensive suits.

Roan answered with what was to be his first lie.

Roan: One of Feodor’s investors. I think. IDK

Samuel: THAT guy likes theater?

Roan: *shrug emoji*

Samuel: More like money laundering. Gotta hide the drug money somewhere

Roan: You need a cash-heavy business for that

Samuel: ???

Roan: Dude. It’s in every mob movie ever

Why the fuck wouldn’t he tell him who I was? He’s the one who flipped his shit about me being the so-called liar out of the two of us and now here he was, months later, lying through his teeth.

Rankled, I kept scrolling.

It took a couple back and forth messages to figure out that Oleg also drew Samuel’s attention. Roan issued his second lie — claiming Oleg was my personal assistant, for Christ’s sake, and keeping an eye on my investment. At least that was partially true.

But as far as I was concerned, this guy was way too fucking interested in Roan’s life. And too fucking friendly, even for an American.

Samuel: Investor guy’s PA is back

Roan: FML

Samuel: Door’s open if you need to hide up here

Samuel: Or you can come up anyway and hang. I’m bored

Roan: Thanks

Roan’s texts tapered off again, but Samuel kept at it. Memes, checking-in, relaying work and non-work related information, trying to coax him into going out. The dates, I noticed, corresponded with some of Roan’s lowest moods. At least I wasn’t the only one who got the cold shoulder, then.

Samuel: You’re missing a great set, music man

Roan: Tired but thanks

Samuel: Come on! You never come out. Got a girlfriend you’re hiding from us?

Samuel: Or is it a boyfriend?

Samuel: A dog?

Roan: None of the above. Night.

Roan was presented with the perfect opportunity to tell Samuel to fuck off but he dodged the question. Not only dodged it, lied. Again. I suppose I should have been grateful he didn’t blame his “dog” for the reason he wasn’t going out.

Samuel: You coming to the Halloween party?

Roan: I have plans, sorry

Samuel: I call bullshit. I want to see you, right now

It irritated the shit out of me that Roan complied instead of outright refusing or putting up any sort of fight. In less than a minute, he snapped a selfie in the mirror. It was the night of that stupid masquerade and he’d already donned his suit. He was mask-less in the picture and so fucking gorgeous it made my stomach flip.

Samuel: HFS *three sweating emojis*

Roan: *wink emoji*

Samuel: You have to come by here when you’re done

Roan: IDK when that will be

Samuel: IDC I have to see this in person

Roan: *OK emoji*

Well, I knew for a fact he didn’t go visit that asshole after the masquerade. As awful as it had started out, I’d never forget it because that was the night Roan told me he loved me. The night I told him, properly, I loved him as well.

Unless that was a lie too. It seemed Roan had turned into quite the expert during our time together. Or maybe he’d always been a liar. Maybe I was too blinded by his golden-boy image I didn’t want to believe he was capable of deceit. Not when he gave me such shit for lying, for trying to hide who I was. And here he was, doing the same goddamn thing.

I flicked through the rest of their conversation at warp speed, looking for more lies, more signs of his duplicity. My scrolling came to a screeching halt the night of the show.

Samuel: Dinner later?

Roan: I thought you were going to the cast party?

Samuel: Not if we’re going to dinner.

Roan: I can’t. Sorry

Samuel: Seriously? We need to celebrate!!!

After ten minutes of silence, Samuel sent another text.

Samuel: Are you ever going to go out with me?

Samuel: I mean, maybe I haven’t been clear, so here it is

Samuel: You’re amazing and I want to spend more time with you, in a non-work kind of way

There was another ten minute break between texts. It could have been a coincidence, or maybe it was Roan trying to craft an excuse.

Finally — finally! — he put this asshole in his place.

Roan: That’s really nice and you’re great, but I’m seeing someone

Samuel: I KNEW that guy wasn’t your cousin

Roan: No, it’s not him

Samuel: Who?

Roan: It’s better if I don’t say

Samuel: Why not?

Roan: I don’t want either of us to get in trouble

Samuel: WTF would you get in trouble for?

Roan: It’s complicated

Samuel: If you’re not interested, just say it. You don’t need to try and make me feel better by making up a fake boyfriend

Roan: Trust me, I’m not making him up

Samuel: Then who is it?

Roan: You know the investor guy? With all the tattoos?

Samuel: Yeah

Roan: It’s him

Samuel: WTF?????

Samuel: You’re joking right???

Roan: No

Samuel: You and Ivan Drago??? I don’t buy it

Roan apparently felt the need to prove it, so he sent a picture. I had no idea when the hell it was from, but I was going to fucking kill him.

It was us, of course, but I was fucking asleep! My cheek was pressed against his bare chest and my arm was slung across his stomach. It was clear I was also shirtless, from the amount of tattoos visible on the upper part of my body. His nose was buried in my hair, his lips pressed to the very top of my forehead.

At least I wasn’t fucking drooling in the picture, but I didn’t look scary in the slightest. Aside from my size, there was nothing about that picture that told Samuel he’d barked up the wrong tree. Of course he hadn’t backed off! The sleeping version of me wasn’t a threat at all! I looked… ugh. Peaceful.

Roan followed up the picture with another text.

Roan: You can’t tell anyone

Samuel: Yeah

Roan: I’m serious! NO ONE can know

Samuel: Ok

That was it. The incessant texting dwindled, especially since the show was done. Samuel threw out the occasional meme, but Roan barely replied.

His earlier lie by omission was at least understandable now. He had taken Sergei’s warning seriously, and being that Feodor was related to him, it made sense Roan didn’t want to advertise our relationship to anyone at the theater.

But Samuel was still getting his one warning. Sleeping-me and Awake-me were two entirely different people and Awake-me had had enough of watching someone else try to edge into my territory.

While I waited for the would-be-interloper to come home, I rifled through the rest of the house, filling in the blanks of whatever Eduard couldn’t find online. There wasn’t much to tell. Overall, Samuel was an unremarkable man leading an unremarkable life. I knew I wasn’t good enough for Roan by virtue of all the things I’d done. But this idiot? Even on his best day, he’d still never be good enough. Roan deserved extraordinary. I may not have been extraordinary, but I’d make damn sure I gave him the best of everything, even if it killed me. What did Samuel have to offer? A Costco membership and an alarming number of action figures on display?

It was late afternoon before Samuel came in through the front door. If he noticed the work van out front, it didn’t seem to concern him considering he walked in and threw his shit down on a bench by the front door, immediately heading toward the kitchen.

I let him duck into the fridge and grab a bottle of water before I stepped into the doorway, making sure to drag the heavy, blunted side of the sledge axe along the floor as I went.

Samuel bolted upright, cracking his skull on the bottom of the freezer door. Swearing, he held his head with one hand and scrambled backward. “What the fuck?! How did you — what the — Shit!”

I kept walking, backing him into the corner of the kitchen counters, the sledge axe scraping over the peeling linoleum. As soon as he was trapped, I lifted the axe and let the handle slide through my hand, tightening my grip again right beneath the metal wedge. It gave me the option to either cut or bludgeon him if I wanted to. I still hadn’t decided. “You know who I am?”

His eyes bounced between my face and the axe head. Nodding vigorously, the tremors continued down his body. I towered over him without even trying. I didn’t realize how short he was until this moment. Even Roan was taller than him.

“You get one warning,” I said, leaning closer, my gaze locked on his. “Are you listening?”

He nodded again.

I lifted the sledge axe, butting it up under his chin and pushing his head backward until he arched up on his tip toes. “Roan is mine and I don’t appreciate when people try to take what is mine. So if I find out you didn’t listen to me, I’ll be back for you.” Punctuating the unspoken threat, I slammed the sharp edge of the axe into the counter right next to his hand.

He yelped and jerked in the opposite direction. Steadying himself against the sink, he gaped at me as I yanked the blade free and let it drop to the ground with a heavy thunk.

A dark spot bloomed in the front of his jeans, trickling down the inside of his thigh. The trembling continued, followed by breathing so fast I was sure he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I took a quick picture of him and the resultant pool of yellow under his shoe.

“If Roan hears about any of this, this goes public,” I said flashing the photo at him before returning the phone to my pocket. “And I’ll make sure you never work in Chicago again.”

I’m sure he heard, but he was too panicked to respond.

Looking down at the front of his jeans again, I shook my head, nose wrinkling. I couldn’t imagine being so scared I would piss myself. I didn’t even fucking touch him! I could have easily broken his arm. Maybe chopped off a couple fingers. But, no. I opted for words, because Roan was always bitching that violence wasn’t the answer. Turned out words weren’t the fucking answer, either.

Flipping the sledge axe up again, I rested it on my shoulder and turned for the door. I left without saying anything else. He’d probably shit himself if I did.

After I swapped the van for my Mercedes, I drove home with a sense of calm settling over me. Now that Samuel had been taken care of, I could focus on other things. Namely Kazimir. But also trying to stay one step ahead of Misha and whatever he was fucking planning.

Roan was home when I got there. Headphones on, he was in the guest room doing something on the computer, sliding buttons around as music notes streamed across the screen.

I didn’t even have to try creeping up on him. He wouldn’t have heard a bomb detonating right behind him, let alone me walking up.

Wrapping my arms around him from behind, I pressed a kiss to the curve of his neck. He jumped in my arms, exhaling a relieved breath as he pulled his headphones off.

“Jesus. You scared me.”

“Sorry.” I brushed my lips across his cheek before pulling away and straightening, not sorry in the slightest.

He spun around in his chair completely, brows furrowed. “You ok?”

I shrugged. “Normal.”

“You have this... look.” He stood as well, hooking his fingers around my belt and jerking my hips against his. “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“Whatever’s going on in that brain of yours.”

“You.”

He cocked his head, his blue eyes so soft and guileless. How the hell could I have ever thought he’d lie to me? I was such an idiot. Roan was everything good and kind and right in the world. What he ever saw in me, I’d never know.

Holding his chin by my thumb and forefinger, I pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to start dinner.”

“Need any help?”

I shook my head and tossed a glance at his laptop. “Finish whatever you’re doing.”

He flashed me one of his brilliant smiles, the one that came so damn effortlessly, and slipped back into his chair. Music notes floated across the screen again, his head bobbing slightly.

How the fuck I ever ended up with him was a divine mystery, but make no mistake about it, I was never letting him go.

21

ROAN

“WELL?” I pushed away from Sasha’s side, where I’d been reclined for the past several hours, and looked at him with as straight of a face as I could muster. His silence could really go one way or the other — either reserved appreciation or silent disdain. “What did you think?”

“You don’t want to know.” He didn’t even look at me as he scooped up the popcorn bowl and retreated to the kitchen.

“Come on!” I grabbed the empty Coke cans and trailed after him. “It’s a classic! Well, a new classic anyway. And there was only one dwarf this time.”

“The whole mission was a giant waste of time. Why didn’t the old man climb on a bird in the beginning and throw the ring into the volcano? Instead, he gives it to the weakest person in the group. It’s illogical.”

“It’s about the journey, not just destroying the ring. And Frodo had the emotional strength to carry out the task. No one else did.”

“I’d rather have physical strength than emotional strength. You didn’t see any of the humans getting caught by a giant spider and almost eaten.”

“We can’t all be badass hitmen, ok? Some of us mere mortals have to rely on our other talents.” I sidled up to him and kissed the underside of his jaw, the stubble rough against my lips. “Did you at least like the music?”

“You and your goddamn music. Is that all you think about?”

“Is there something better?” I feigned an innocent smile.

He gave me a predatory grin before covering my mouth with his, sucking on my bottom lip gently before nipping it.

“Are you ever going to tell me about your nickname?” I blurted out the question before the filter on my mouth could catch it.

He cocked his head. “Sasha?”

“No. The other one. Your street name, or whatever.”

That time, his brows went up. “The Wolf?”

I nodded.

“Are you ever going to tell me how you got those bolt cutters?” he threw back with a smirk.

“You tell me first.”

His head rolled backward with a groan. “It’s a joke. The whole thing. There is no meaning.”

“A joke?” I didn’t buy it. “People are literally scared just by your name. That doesn’t sound like a joke to me.”

Rather than respond, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and started typing. Finding whatever he wanted, he handed it to me with a resigned sigh.

It was a news headline from 2011.

400 WOLVES TERRORIZE RUSSIAN TOWN

“What the fuck? They killed thirty horses in four days?” I kept reading, eyes widening when I got to the part about how completely remote Verkhoyansk was — and how cold. “Really? That’s where you grew up? With superpacks of wolves running around in one of the coldest places on earth?”

He nodded, unperturbed by the terrifying description of his quaint little hometown.

“Ok, but what does that have to do with your nickname?” I asked, handing his phone back.

“Eduard.” He smirked and shook his head. “That asshole started calling me the Wolf as a joke after the news came out. Then when people saw what I did for the Belovs…” His black brows came together. “Well, it wasn’t a joke anymore. Humans weren’t meant to do that to one another. So the name sort of stuck.”

I reached for him, but he stepped away.

“Yuri,” I said, answering his earlier question and trying not to throw up. That name was like acid on my tongue, but at least I could say it out loud. Finally. “He gave me the bolt cutters.”

Sasha stopped dead in his tracks, the muscles in his back visibly tightening beneath his white t-shirt.

“I figured he did it just to fuck with you.” I folded my arms over my chest and leaned one hip against the kitchen counter. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t seem important. Plus, it’s, like, the only thing I could hold over your head. You know everything else about me. I’m one big pathetic open book to you.”

“If he wasn’t dead, I’d fucking kill him, that backstabbing piece of shit.”

I didn’t have anything else to say on the matter. It was a good thing, since there was a knock at the door. Well, sort of. It was more like a fist pounding against the door so hard the chain on the inside rattled.

Any second, I expected to hear Frankie screaming on the other side of it. I didn’t think I’d missed any of her texts recently, but I pulled my phone out to double check. Nothing.

Sasha glanced at me briefly before going to open it.

I peered around the corner and my heart froze solid in my chest.

She didn’t! I was going to fucking kill her... If she could fly to Chicago to chew my ass out, I could certainly fly to New York and return the favor. There was absolutely no fucking reason for them to be here!

Two uniformed police stood on the other side of the door. “Aleksandr Vassiliev?”

Sasha’s shoulders straightened and I couldn’t help but notice he widened his stance, like he was getting ready to take them both on. Unfortunately for them, he probably could have. “What do you want?”

The cops noticed the change in his position too. The one doing the talking held a hand out, his hand gripping the taser still holstered on his vest. “You have a warrant,” he said while the second withdrew a pair of handcuffs from his duty belt. “No bond. You gotta go before a judge.”

Sasha cocked his head, but I was the one who blurted out, “For what?!”

The cops’ attention flicked to me for half a second, decided I wasn’t a threat, and immediately went back to Sasha. “Aggravated battery, for starters.”

“What do you mean ‘for starters’?”

“Listen, kid, come to bond call tomorrow and you’ll hear it all, ok?”

Meanwhile, the cop with the cuffs twirled his finger, indicating Sasha should turn around.

Jaw clenched, Sasha pivoted on his heel and crossed his arms at the wrists behind his back, settling into a position he seemed all too familiar with. Memories of his Russian mug shots flipped through my brain like a slideshow. And now he’d have one more for the collection.

“This is bullshit!” I couldn’t believe he wasn’t saying anything in his defense. Sasha fought everything and everyone and now? Nothing. Not that I wanted him to deck a cop, but considering what he was capable of, I couldn’t believe he was just going along with it!

“Solnyshko.” He growled the word, pulling my gaze to him like a magnet.

I bit my lip, dread slinking down my spine. He didn’t have to say anything else. His tone was reprimand enough and I knew I needed to shut my fucking mouth before I got arrested too.

“Where are you taking him?” I asked the cops, trying to rein in my spiraling emotions.

“Division 9, off of 31st.”

It didn’t mean anything to me, but Sasha’s jaw set. The tiger tattoo on his neck rippled as the muscles in his throat flexed.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, answering the unspoken question probably plastered across my face.

Once he’d shoved his feet into boots, the cops hauled him out the door and down the hallway. No goodbye. No nothing. Just an empty reassurance and an even emptier apartment.

My breathing quickened. The world around me spun as fast as the thoughts in my head. The blood in my veins buzzed. I was going to throw up at any second. I knew it. The Coke and the popcorn were making their way back up my esophagus. Swallowing it down, I turned and scanned the kitchen frantically.

Snatching my phone off the counter, I scrolled through the contacts, debating who to call first.

Misha was the obvious choice. He would know what to do. He had access to the money and lawyers and whatever else Sasha needed. But then again, he might be pissed Sasha was arrested in the first place. Avoiding the cops at all costs was something ingrained in all of them. Misha might see Sasha’s arrest as his own fault, a problem not worthy of fixing. And that, in and of itself, could jeopardize Sasha’s standing, which I couldn’t let happen.

I scrolled back up to the top of my contacts.

The phone rang three times before a very confused man answered the phone. “Roan? Is everything ok?”

“Bennett.” I swallowed down more nausea, purposely slowing my breathing so I didn’t word-vomit into the phone. “I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The cops just came and arrested Sasha. They said he had a warrant. And I can’t see him until tomorrow at bond call. They said it was ‘no bond’ or whatever and he had to go see a judge. They only told me the one charge but I guess he has more and I’m pretty sure my friend just ratted him out for what he did to—” The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. Oh my God! That fucker! “No! It was my fucking dad! He’s gotta be the one who—”

Bennett whistled sharply into the phone. So much for not word-vomiting. When I stopped talking, he cleared his throat. “Do you know where he went?”

“They said 31st Street.”

A deep sigh sounded through the speaker.

“Why? What’s wrong with 31st Street?” My heart rate tripled again, remembering the face Sasha made when he heard the news. My palm was so sweaty I felt like I was going to drop the phone.

“It’s super max, which means your man is going to be really popular. Hopefully some of his comrades are locked up too, otherwise he’s in for a long night.”

I sank onto one of the stools at the bar. Would his scary nickname would be enough to keep him safe, at least for one night? God, I hoped so. I mean, he’d survived prison. A Russian prison. Surely jail was tamer than that. Right? “Can you help him?”

Bennett ignored the question and lobbed back one of his own. “Have you talked to his people yet?”

“No, you were my first call. I figured he needed a lawyer more than a mob boss.”

“Good. I’ll call Misha and let him know what’s going on. I’m going to tell you right now not to expect him home tonight. Ok? Cook County doesn’t work that fast. But I’ll bring him back to you, Roan. I promise.”

“Thank you, Bennett. I can’t thank you enough.”

He disconnected and I slumped across the counter, resting my head on my arm. Anger and fear twisted through my intestines like thorny vines. This was Dad’s doing. I fucking knew it was. Aggravated battery? What a fucking asshole. He’s lucky a broken nose was the only thing Sasha did to him and then he turns around and presses charges because he had his ego stomped on? It was over a fucking week ago! Did he report it that night and it just took the cops this long to catch up to Sasha or did Dad purposely let some time slip by so we’d think we were in the clear?

Regardless of the answer, I swore right then and there I was going to get him back for this. There was no way I’d ever forget how easily he lied about the ransom demand when I was kidnapped, or how he’d treated me my entire fucking life. But my original plan of having Sasha scare the shit out of him? Yeah, fuck that. I didn’t want to scare him anymore. I wanted him to fucking suffer. His actions, or lack of actions, had consequences and I vowed to make sure he felt each and every brutal repercussion.

22

SASHA

“WHERE SHOULD WE PUT HIM, SARGE?”

“Fuck if I know.”

I sighed, turning my attention to the cement ceiling overhead. There were so many cracks and water spots up there, I was surprised it hadn’t come crashing down yet.

The jailer trying to book me had had this conversation with two of his other colleagues. And now a sergeant stood next to him, clicking through my computerized file, regarding me with wariness.

“Is there any room in med hold?” the jailer looked hopeful.

The sergeant shook his head. “Full. So’s solitary.”

“Well, this block is out. That block’s out. If you put him here, they’ll fucking kill each other.”

“Is there anyone you get along with, professionally speaking? Chinese? Italians? Mexicans?” The sergeant raised his brows at me, while I furrowed mine at him.

“Nyet.”

“Course not.” He sighed and scratched the back of his neck, pointing at something on the screen. “Try here.”

The other man’s brow wrinkled. “You sure? They just sent that Mexican to the hospital. Twenty-two stitches.”

“It’s one night.” The sergeant looked me over. “I’m sure he can handle it.”

The jailer nodded and unchained me from the railing I was handcuffed to, directing me down a windowless hallway.

The barred door buzzed and slid open to a holding cell with only two other men. From my experience, they normally they held ten times that.

“Good luck,” the jailer murmured, unlocking the handcuffs and gesturing me inside.

I surveyed the two as I strode in, dropping onto the bench on the opposite side of the cell. They eyed me with the same suspicion, both sitting up a bit straighter on their shared bench.

They were built, for sure, but I still had the height advantage. From the bloody knuckles, ripped t-shirts, and stained jeans I figured I was dealing with two brawlers, one of my least favorite type of fighters. If they were trained, you already knew something of their strengths and weaknesses. Brawlers were unpredictable.

“Who the fuck is this?” the darker of the two asked before the guard walked away. “We told you we don’t want no more cellies, pal!”

“Hey! Smitty! My man is talking to you!” the blond added.

The jailer muttered something, but didn’t answer either of them.

Alone at last, we sized each other up again. They were American, obviously. From the Celtic knots and shamrock tattoos visible on their arms, safe to say they were some type of Irish. Sergei had contacts on the North Side, but I’d never had interactions with any of them. With my luck, these guys were from the South Side, which meant no one was getting any sleep tonight until someone went to the hospital.

“Whatcha think?” The darker one leaned his shoulder up against the blond, their eyes fixed on me. “Resisting? Disorderly?”

The blond shook his head and made a face at his friend. “Armed robbery.”

“Armed robbery and resisting,” the dark one said with a laugh. “Look at the fucking size of this guy. I’ll throw in an Agg Batt, too.”

I lifted a brow, glancing between the two. At least they were amused by their little game. Maybe I’d just pretend I didn’t speak English. It was a tried and true tactic for those times I didn’t feel like talking or answering stupid questions.

“Ok, we give up,” the blond sighed. “What’d you do?”

Only an idiot would answer that question, which meant they were seasoned criminals, trying to suss out where I ranked in our world.

Smirking, I shifted my attention past the two and back into the hall, assessing the small crowd that had gathered at the cell door across the way. The group openly stared at me, talking amongst themselves, elbowing one another and nodding in my direction. Fucking Italians. Always hands flying and tongues wagging, squawking like chickens.

My cellmates glanced back and forth, exchanging grins of their own.

“You know Joey and Tony over there?” the darker one asked, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. “Couple of Marchese’s guys. Well. What’s left of them. Whole family’s pretty much been annihilated. Stubborn wops keep using the name though, like we’re supposed to be fucking scared!” His taunt got louder and louder with each word, clearly meant for the Italians and not me.

Before I could even decide if I was going to answer the Irishman or not, one of the Italians was shoved forward as the apparent spokesperson of the group. “Hey! Hey you! You’re that Russian who whacked Carmine last week, right? Yeah. Heard you were a big fucker. All tatted up. You know you’re not leaving this city alive, right? We’re coming for you.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the cinderblocks, trying to get as comfortable as I could for the night. I’d heard that threat before and I’d hear it again. The only one out there who truly worried me was Kazimir, and that was only because no one had been able to locate him yet.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up, Tony?” my blond cellmate shouted. “No one believes any of the shit you say ever since you pissed yourself during that robbery.”

“Shut your fucking face, Brehaney! Goddamn potato heads.”

“What are you going to do? Come over here and shut it for me, you Dago prick?”

“O’Brien, put a fucking muzzle on your boy!”

“Kiss my Irish ass, Romano!” the darker-haired Irishman shouted back. “You know if we were on the street, you’d be crying for your ma.”

“As soon as I get outta here, your name is going to the top of my list, asshole.”

O’Brien stood and walked to the bars, spitting through them in the Italians’ direction. “Yeah, you do that, Tony. Until then, give my love to your wife. No one sucks dick like she can, except maybe Joey over there.” He blew the other Italian a kiss.

“Fuck you, Declan!”

One of the corrections guards walked by, bringing a cease-fire to the shouting. As soon as he was gone, the two flipped each other off or pantomimed jacking off before resuming their respective seats.

“So, you hate those fucks as much as we do?” Declan asked in a chipper tone.

The blond — Brehaney — squinted at me, his head cocking. “If you’re the one who got Carmine, that means you’re the one who took out Little Angelo, too.”

His friend whistled low. “Damn. That was some sick shit. I mean that with the highest level of respect.” He smiled and laid his hand over his heart before extending it. “Declan O’Brien. This is Sean Brehaney. North Siders, at your service.”

The blond nodded in acknowledgment of his name.

Leaning forward, I shook Declan’s hand, still mindful to keep my gaze moving between them in case it was some sort of ambush. “Aleksandr Vassiliev.”

“Nice to meet you.”

I inclined my head, retracting my hand again.

Once I’d been deemed an equal, the two went back to talking with each other or harassing the Italians and the guards, saving me from having to talk.

At least I didn’t have to worry about getting shanked in the middle of the night. As the old saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

AS THE GUARDS pulled everyone out of their cells and lined us up to march to bond call like good little prisoners, one of the jailers grabbed my elbow and led me in a different direction.

“What the fuck?” I snapped, trying to rip my arm free. I’d been separated from the herd before and it was never for a good reason. If this fat bastard thought I was going to go willingly, he was in for a rude awakening.

The guard managed to hang on to my arm, but he sounded bored when he finally answered. “You’re being discharged, buddy, relax.”

Bullshit. “I haven’t been to bond call.”

“No need.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, man. Ask your lawyer.”

The heavy metal door buzzed, letting us into the discharge area. A man in a dark green shirt, unbuttoned to his abdomen, and black trousers was leaning against the desk, laughing and flirting with the middle-aged woman behind the counter.

He straightened slowly and shook the dark hair out of his eyes, regarding me with a smirk I’d recognize anywhere. The fucking peacock.

“Well, well. Even more handsome without the mask.” Bennett walked forward slowly, that cocky quirk to his lips.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked while the guard unlocked the handcuffs and disappeared back behind the door.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m your ride, big boy.” He winked and returned to the messenger bag he’d left at the counter with the receptionist. “Appreciate the help as always, Marcia.”

“You take care of yourself, Bennett.”

He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder and arching an eyebrow. “You coming, or what?”

Seeing no other suitable choice, I stomped after him. “I didn’t call you.”

“Ah, ah. Zip those luscious lips until we’re outside, m’kay pumpkin?”

God, I hated this man.

He didn’t let me speak again until we were in his car, a black Maserati that I had to begrudgingly admit was rather impressive. “Let’s run through the highlights, shall we? You headbutted Daddy Sinclair in the middle of a very busy restaurant and nearly stabbed him with a steak knife. Are you at all surprised he turned around and pressed charges against your dumb ass? Now, lucky for you, the State’s Attorney and I are pretty damn chummy and I was able to have those charges dismissed. You’re welcome, by the way. Had to cash in a hefty favor for that one.”

“And why would you do any of that?”

“I am a champion of justice, my friend. Fighting the good fight. Righting the wrongs. Etcetera, etcetera.” He waved a hand dramatically, silver rings flashing on nearly every finger.

“Roan called you,” I said flatly.

“Yeah, Roan called me.”

I suppressed a groan, glaring at the window as the buildings rolled by. Why the fuck would Roan call this asshole? Out of all of the lawyers in the city. Sergei had dozens of them on standby. I didn’t need this guy and I certainly didn’t want him.

“Can’t have you going back to prison now that my little songbird’s heart is clearly on the line,” Bennett continued, throwing a warning look at me. “Oh, yeah. I know all about you, Wolf. You think I didn’t do a background check on your ass as soon as Roan called? The only thing I couldn’t figure out is how the hell you ever crossed paths with him.”

The way he spoke with such familiarity grated on me. I clenched my hand in my lap, envisioning the damage I could do with just one fucking punch. “Why should you care about Roan’s heart or how we met?”

“Ooo. Sasha. I thought those eyes of yours were blue. I’m seeing nothing but green, comrade.” He chuckled, exchanging his left hand on the wheel for his right, conveniently putting up a barrier between me and his throat. Not that I couldn’t still punch him, but his new position threw the angle off. “Calm down before you go all Chernobyl on me.”

“Answer the fucking question.”

The jest wisely left his face and his tone, but not the all-knowing smugness. “His father is a fucking asshole I’ve had the displeasure of doing business with for a while now. Roan is a good kid. He deserves to be happy. Even if you tried to break my wrist the first time we met, I think it’s safe to say you want the same thing for him.”

“I would do anything for him. And I mean anything.” Including ripping cocky lawyers apart, one limb at a time.

“Yeah?” He stole another glance at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” I shot back, mimicking his tone.

“Good. Guess that means I don’t have to kill you after all.” Something silver flashed in his lap, drawing my attention downward. He twirled an ornate stiletto around his in left hand, weaving the blade between his fingers as easily as if it were a pen. As if I didn’t have enough reasons to already fucking hate him…

When my gaze flicked up again, he gave me a sidelong look. One final spin of the knife and it disappeared out of view, presumably back to its hiding place along the driver’s seat. Once it was gone, he took the wheel back with his left hand, lowering his right.

Unclenching my hands and laying them flat where he could see them, I forced myself to press back into my seat in some attempt at relaxing.

It was as much of a truce as we were going to establish.

“While I’ve got you alone... You know anything about that dead girl from my party?” Bennett asked as casually as if we were discussing the weather.

“What about her?”

“Who killed her would be a great start. Nothing spoils the evening quite like a murder investigation.”

“I have no idea. And even if I did, why should you care?”

“Curiosity. Just like I’m curious as to why you almost strangled her to death.”

“I—”

“Before you even think about lying, know there were cameras all over that house.”

“Then you should know who killed her,” I snapped. Figures he’d be the type to spy on people at his own party. It’s probably how he got all the dirt he used to fucking blackmail them. Although, I shouldn’t slam his methods entirely, considering he helped me out by doing something equally shady.

“See… That’s the problem with a masquerade…” He rolled his head against the headrest and looked at me with a bored expression. “Everyone’s wearing a mask.”

If it wasn’t for Roan, this truce would have been over the second that sarcastic reply dripped off his tongue. “Tell me what you know, and maybe I’ll have an answer.”

“Tall blond in a suit wearing a silver mask. Not a whole lot to go on there. The only thing I know is who it rules out — which is you, so calm down, cupcake.”

“It could still be almost anyone.”

“Hence the difficulties. Other than you, did she piss anyone else off?”

“There’s no telling with her.” I turned my attention out the window, watching as we sailed past other vehicles like they weren’t even moving. And Roan said I was a reckless driver. “Why don’t you talk to Misha? He was her date.”

“I did. It wasn’t him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He glanced at me again, a brow lifted in question. “Well, for starters, he just shelled out a pretty penny to get the princess stateside. Why would he turn around and kill her?”

“Because she’s a backstabbing bitch?”

“Ooo. Ouch. What did she do to you?”

“She framed me for a murder her idiot brother did back home. It was a diplomat, so the repercussions were... harsh.” My fist clenched involuntarily until I forced it flat again.

“So why didn’t you kill her? You had the perfect opportunity and more than enough motive from the sounds of it.”

“Roan,” I answered glumly. “He doesn’t approve of what I do, so killing someone with him in the other room would be unforgivable. It wasn’t worth the risk.”

Bennett snorted and muttered, “I hear that, mon frère.”

Shifting in my seat, I regarded him as he drove. The black band on his left ring finger came into view as he turned the steering wheel, navigating through the city with ease.

As if he could sense what I was looking at, he straightened his fingers at a stop light and cocked his head. “Love can be a real pain in the ass.” He turned to me, the corner of his mouth tipped up. “But I’d be completely lost without him. He’s my everything.”

Nodding, I turned away from him. I knew the feeling. Intimately. Roan was the one I loved more than life itself and he was the biggest pain of all. How strange that two opposing notions were represented by the same person. But at least it wasn’t unusual, if Bennett was to be believed.

Pulling up in front of my building, Bennett didn’t even bother putting the car in park. He handed me his business card and promised to be available for whatever Roan or I needed.

“Take care of him,” Bennett said as I climbed out.

“Always.” I pocketed his card, hating him a little less than I did an hour ago. As soon as the door closed, I started toward the building, somehow refraining from sprinting inside and up ten flights of stairs.

Knocking at my own door like a beggar, I huffed and shifted my weight from side to side while I waited.

Footsteps approached softly, followed quickly by the turning of locks. Roan yanked the door open and threw himself at me, wrapping his arms around my neck.

“Oh thank God.” He pressed his lips to mine, pulling me against him as hard as he could and practically dragging me into the apartment.

I kicked the door shut behind us, tightening my arms around his waist and kissing him back. We only made it to the kitchen before I grabbed him by the hips and lifted him onto the island.

“I was so worried,” Roan said between kisses.

Peeling his shirt off, I tossed it to the side before doing the same to mine. “I’m fine.”

Threading my fingers through his hair, I cupped the back of his head and pressed my lips to his. He slid his hands over my hips and around to the back, squeezing my ass and pulling me against him.

Angling his head to the side, I kissed and nipped his throat, enjoying each gasp and whine. “You can’t do that to me,” he sighed, his eyelids heavy.

“It’s not like I planned it.” If I was going to pre-plan my arrest, it would have been before the fantasy movie marathon. I’d rather spend another night with the Irish brawlers than watch one more thing with a dwarf or elf or goblin in it.

“I mean it, Sasha.” He leaned back, holding my face gently. “I don’t know what I’d do if they locked you up for good. Or worse…”

“You’d be lost?” I hated that the conversation with Bennett is what sprang to mind, but it seemed fitting, especially when Roan ran his fingers through my hair, a soft, sad smile on his lips.

“Yeah. Is that how you feel?”

I nodded, swallowing the sudden vulnerability in admitting shit like that.

His smile brightened a bit. “You know, I’m not going to think less of you if you say something about your feelings once in a while.”

“I’m not a fucking greeting card,” I muttered.

He laughed softly and ran his hands over my chest, idly tracing some of my tattoos. “Trust me, I know. I’m just saying… It would be nice to hear—”

“Roan?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He smirked and took my face between his hands again. Brushing his lips across mine, he teased me with a flick of his tongue before kissing me for real.

Fumbling with his jeans while trying to kiss him back, I worked them down his hips and ripped them off as soon as he lifted his ass off the counter. I’d barely managed to push my own jeans down when he grabbed my cock, slicking something over my skin. The bottle of olive oil was right next to him and seemed like the logical conclusion.

“Interesting choice,” I murmured as his teeth grazed my throat, his tongue sweeping over my Adam’s apple. Not that I liked being arrested, but if this was the homecoming I’d get, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“Mhmm.” He shifted forward to the end of the island, his legs wrapped around my waist and pulling me closer.

“Bare?” I asked, more surprised than concerned.

“Is that a problem?”

I wanted to say, “Fuck no!” but managed to filter it down to a simple, “No.”

“Good.” He reached between us and positioned my cock against his hole. Since I was holding onto him to keep him from sliding right off the counter, he maintained his grip on my dick, guiding it as I sank inside him. “Oh, shit. Sasha.”

In addition to reminding myself to breath, I fought to keep my eyes open. Without any barriers between us, everything was magnified. The heat, the tightness, the fucking rapture of being this connected to him. To anyone.

He clenched around me so hard, my eyes widened, coming back into focus on his face. Licking his lips, he dragged his teeth across his lower one and lifted an eyebrow. “You gonna fuck me, or just stand there?”

With a growl, I yanked him off the counter by his hips and slammed him against my pelvis, suspending him between myself and the island. I buried my cock all the way in one, hard stroke. He swore and sort of gasped at the same time, his eyes rolling up. Smirking, he propped himself on his elbows, letting me support most of his weight by cupping his ass in both hands.

“Were you saying something?” I asked through my teeth, thrusting into him hard and deep, so he couldn’t make any more snarky comments.

“Just like that,” he moaned, his lips parted and his head tipped back. “Fuck, right there.”

I kept up the punishing pace, even as sweat trickled down my spine and my arms burned from holding onto him so tightly. He gripped the edge of the island, gasping and groaning every time I bottomed out inside of him. Strands of pre-cum crisscrossed his abs and from the way his breathing turned shallow, I knew he was close.

“Come on, baby,” I said, sliding him most of the way onto the island again so I could drive into him even faster. “I need to feel you come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He pushed himself upward and looped one arm around my neck, kissing me roughly. A moment later, his body tensed against me and he cried out, his sweaty forehead pressed to mine. Most of his cum shot across his stomach, but I felt some land on me as well. Not that I cared in the slightest. We were both in need of a shower after this little escapade.

As he rode out his orgasm on my cock, clenching and trembling around me, my own release exploded through me. It took everything I had not to collapse on top of him while I regained my breath, one ragged inhale at a time.

Roan dipped his head, catching my eye with an impish smirk. “Is this what we’re going to do now? Instead of talking like two adults, we’ll just convey our feelings through fucking?”

I pretended to think for half a second before answering. “Yeah.”

“Hmm, ok. So the next time you badger me about what’s wrong, I just get to fuck you and skip the conversation?”

“You mean I fuck you. Then we skip the conversation.”

He shook his head, that smirk still in place. “No, baby. One of these days, I’m going to stake my claim on that ass of yours,” he said, grabbing two handfuls and squeezing.

“Ok.” I returned his smile, watching the surprise dart across his face.

“Ok? You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course. You can fuck me.”

Suspicion creased the corners of his eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“As soon as you can do this.” I eased my softening cock out of him and immediately threw him up over my shoulder in a fireman carry.

“That’s not even fair!” He squirmed against me, no doubt looking for a way down.

I smacked his ass soundly, carting him off toward the master bath. “What have I told you? Life’s not fair.”

“Spoken like a Russian,” he grumbled.

As soon as we were in the bathroom, I set him on his feet but I didn’t let go of him. I tipped his chin up and captured his mouth in another kiss, softer and more sensual than before. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Sex was a lot easier than verbalizing my thoughts. But moving forward, I’d try to be better about it. If he needed to hear words, I’d find a way to express them, even if it fucking killed me.

Goddamn that lawyer for being right. Even after the shit we’d gone through, Roan was my everything and lost is exactly what I’d be if I didn’t have him. Completely and utterly lost.

23

ROAN

EVEN THOUGH SASHA WAS HOME, safe and sound, and Bennett assured me the charges were dropped for good, rage still simmered in my blood every time I thought about what happened. My father had no problem calling the police when he was the victim, but when my life was on the line? Not a fucking peep.

It had been months and I wasn’t even close to getting over his betrayal. I knew he’d never be the father I wanted. I knew we’d never be close or have a remotely loving relationship. But never, in a million years, did I expect him to throw me away like I was fucking nothing.

And then to go after Sasha?

Not on my fucking watch.

I yanked open the door to the coffee shop, Ilya on my heels like a shadow. “Can you grab me a hazelnut latte, please?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.”

He nodded and peeled off in the other direction, toward the counter.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, I ducked into the men’s bathroom and slid the lock into place on the main door.

Bennett materialized from around the corner, chuckling to himself and spinning a large, onyx ring on his index finger. “I’ve had meetings in some pretty strange places, but I think a bathroom is actually a first for me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. You know I’m happy to help. Not to mention, I’m beyond curious as to why we have to be so secretive about this.”

“My bodyguard is out there and I don’t want any of this getting back to Sasha. At least, not right now. Not until I know it’ll even work.”

Bennett folded his arms over his chest, his silver necklaces flashing against the exposed skin. “Why do I get the feeling you want to do something naughty?”

I smirked. Naughty didn’t even scratch the surface.

“You know how I feel about my father.” He nodded, so I continued. “He’s lied to me, manipulated me, ignored me my entire life. He did some shit a while back that is unforgivable. What he did to Sasha was the final straw. I was going to have Sasha take care of it, eventually, when I figured out the right time. But it’s gone beyond that now. I want him to fucking suffer like never before.”

Bennett’s hazel eyes widened in barely-contained delight, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. “How are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to destroy every single thing in his life. Absolutely everything. Everything he loves, everything he cares about, everything that holds meaning to him. Fucking gone.”

Bennett was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What do you need from me?”

“You know the Russians and every other major player in the city — criminal and straight. Can you put the word out there that NIB&T is under federal investigation?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are they?”

“No. Not yet. But the criminals aren’t going to know that. They’re going to yank their money from the bank so fast, it’ll make his head spin. Or they’ll start sending severed horse heads to the house and shit, telling him to fix it. Either way, it’ll get his attention and put him on edge because he won’t be in control for once.”

“And then what?”

I fished a jump drive out of my pocket and handed it over. “I read this probably a dozen times, but I want to make sure I understand everything. More importantly, I want to make sure that I get what’s mine when the time comes and that asshole can’t find a loophole or something. Can you make sure it’s airtight?”

He took the drive and pocketed it. “When does the little canary need to start singing?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Word will be on the streets by lunch.”

“Thank you, Bennett.”

He patted my cheek gently and stepped out, whistling an upbeat song — one I immediately recognized. It was one I composed, but the only way he could have heard it was at Feodor’s show.

Smiling to myself, I thanked my lucky stars for having someone like Bennett around. He was like a fairy godmother, but better dressed and unscrupulous AF.

As soon as the coast was clear, I slipped out of the bathroom and rejoined Ilya where he was waiting on our coffees.

“Thanks,” I murmured, hooking my thumbs in my pockets and glancing around like I didn’t just have a clandestine meeting in the bathroom.

“What are we doing today?” Ilya asked. If he was suspicious, it didn’t show on his face or in his easygoing tone.

“Um, actually, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Of course.”

“Will you teach me how to shoot?”

Ilya turned toward me and blinked. “A gun?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.” He shrugged, a small smile on his face. “I don’t think that’s enough to convince Sasha to fire me, though.”

I chuckled, relaxing a bit now that Ilya was on board. I mean, it beat his usual day of hanging around the theater or whatever it was he did when I holed up in the apartment. “I’m not trying to get you fired. It’s just that Sasha’s into them and given his line of... work... it probably wouldn’t hurt to know what the hell I’m doing.”

“Good point.” He snagged our coffees off the countertop, handing mine over with a brighter smile. “This is going to be so much fun.”

I gave him a side-eye. “Why do I have a feeling all of a sudden that this was a bad idea?”

He grinned, elbowing me on our way to the door. “Oh, come on. I’ll be a nicer teacher than Sasha would.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

HUNDREDS OF ROUNDS and several hours later, my hands were aching. Muscles I didn’t even know I had hurt, but it was worth it. By the end of my intense training with Ilya, I was a fairly decent shot, if I did say so myself. Up close was a breeze. Even when he pushed the targets out further and further, my shots still managed to hit the black silhouette, even if the shot wasn’t technically lethal.

“If you put enough holes in them, it’ll be lethal,” Ilya said with an oddly reassuring smile.

Once Ilya proclaimed that I’d done well, I allowed myself to feel a tiny flutter of pride. Aside from the practical value of knowing how to shoot, it was fucking fun. I wasn’t going to sign up for a gun club anytime soon, but now that I knew how to at least handle a gun, I could relax a bit on Rule #3.

“We should really go over the basics of Systema one of these days,” Ilya said on our way back home.

“Go over what?” I asked, eyes widening. That didn’t sound pleasant, whatever it was.

“Systema. It’s a style of fighting my uncle learned in the Spetsnaz. He taught me. I can teach you. Oh! And knife fighting!”

I shook my head with a smile. “A little bored with your new assignment?”

“Pssht.” He waved me off. “Hanging with you all day is nothing.”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re basically getting paid to flirt with Polina when I’m at the Adler.” I feigned an innocent smile when he shot me an insulted look.

“I’m not flirting. I’m there for your protection!”

“Uh huh. So am I the first person you’ve had to babysit?”

“No. I used to be on the team assigned to watch over Alina Sidorova. Now that shit was boring.”

“She’s Sergei’s daughter. How could that have been boring? Weren’t you going to parties all the time and traveling?”

“Yeah. Sometimes.” He shot me a glance, his nose wrinkled. “But she’s an artist. Most days, I literally watched paint dry. For hours!”

My laugh was cut short when my cell phone rang.

It was my mother.

Glancing at the clock, I couldn’t help but smile at the time. Bennett called it — the little birdie got the rumor circulating just after one in the afternoon.

“Have you heard from your father?” Mom asked in a rush of breath. I could just imagine her clutching her proverbial pearls with every word.

“Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Our membership to Greenmore has been revoked,” she whispered into the phone. She was so high-pitched I actually squinted trying to hear her better.

“The country club revoked your membership?” I clarified, making sure I heard that correctly.

“Yes!”

Of course they did. It catered to rich people with zero morals. I tried to sound genuinely concerned, but it was really hard when I kept smiling. Strike One against Phillip Sinclair. “Sorry, Mom. I wish I knew what to tell you.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on! First, Carla cancelled our dinner plans with some ridiculous story about her husband wanting her to stay home and then when I went to Greenmore to meet Elizabeth for lunch, I was turned away at the door like a... like a…”

“Peasant?” Another smile shot across my face.

“Roan, this isn’t funny!”

I flexed my jaw, trying to get rid of the smile. “I wasn’t laughing.”

Her line cut out briefly and she gasped. “Oh, no! Now Anita is calling. I have to go.”

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Normally, I might have been a little miffed, but that conversation was the cherry on top of an already pleasant day.

Now that things had been set in motion, it was time to get Sasha on board with the next part of the plan. I had a feeling it was going to be a fight. I’d have to appeal to his rational side, the one that operated in a risk-versus-reward sort of system. Once he heard the plan, he’d have to say yes.

If not, I wasn’t above using sex to get what I wanted. It worked before when I was just some guy he’d kidnapped. Well, it sort of worked. I wasn’t dead and that was something most kidnapping victims couldn’t claim.

Besides, I was far more confident in the outcome this time around. At least I knew I wouldn’t get decked while trying to get him off. Hopefully…

24

SASHA

“YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?” I blinked at him slowly, replaying the words again and again. Obviously, I misheard. Or misunderstood. Or... was hallucinating.

“I want you to kidnap my father,” Roan repeated, as clear and calm as could be.

“He just had me arrested and now you want me to kidnap him?”

“Yeah. Everyone with any sort of power has cut ties with him. My parents lost their memberships to all of their fucking clubs and associations. He’s vulnerable and she doesn’t have anyone to turn to. It’s time for Part Two.”

I cocked my head. “Part Two? I didn’t even know there was a Part One.”

“Well, I didn’t need you for that part. I need you for this part.”

My mind whirled with each new bit of information that fell from his lips. I heard him, but I didn’t understand any of it. “Since when do you plan shit like this, Mister Do Good?”

“Since now. Well, since you were arrested. I told you, I might not be in the mafia, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I know how people move behind the scenes. More importantly, I know how to move them.”

Who the fuck was this person in front of me? I blinked again, trying to comprehend the change in his overall mood. Not to mention his morals.

“It’s easy. I have it all mapped out for you.” For the love of God, he did. He pulled out his iPad and tapped on the screen, blowing up a satellite image. “Since he lost his gym membership, he’s been running on these trails. He goes early, before breakfast, and he walks there from the house. There’s no cameras out there, so just grab him like you grabbed me. If you get him after he’s already been for a run, he’ll be tired. Maybe a little sweaty. But he definitely won’t have the energy to fight you off. Not that he could. I mean, you’re you, after all, and he’s pushing sixty.”

“What?”

He kept going, ignoring my question and the incredulous look on my face. “And then, take him to the place with the dog kennels. But, do you have a smaller one? I don’t think he should have as much room as I did. I mean, it was considerate and all, but I really want him to feel what it’s like being trapped.” He clenched his fists, emphasizing his desire.

All I could do was stare at him.

“What?” He gave me a shy smile, his cheeks flushing. How the fuck could he look sweet and innocent while talking about a fucking kidnapping?! I had to be dreaming. “You’re not saying anything…”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know… That you’ll do it?”

“You’ve lost your damn mind. Kidnapping? Again?” I shook my head and pushed away from the table. Thank God I had to go to work. It gave me the perfect excuse to get away from him for a while so I could try and figure out who kidnapped my Roan and replaced him with this criminal clone.

Not letting me off the hook that easy, he followed me down the hall to the bedroom. “So why is it ok for you to plan a kidnapping but not me?”

I stopped abruptly and whirled to face him. “Because I’m a fucking criminal. You’re not.”

“Why should that matter? A plan is a plan. And I happen to think I have a good plan.”

“Of course you do.” I shook my head and kept going, checking my watch and gauging the time before I had to be at Delirium. There definitely wasn’t enough to continue this insane conversation.

“I thought you’d be happy,” he said, sounding dejected. “I’m crossing over to the Dark Side. Or, at least visiting for a while.”

I ignored him and ducked into the shower, turning it on. Peeling my shirt off, I tossed it toward the hamper right as Roan stepped forward and shoved me against the bathroom wall.

“Help me, Sasha.” He practically purred my name before leaving a trail of kisses along my chest. Dragging his tongue along the line of my dagger tattoo, he looked up at me from under his lashes, part sultry and part imploring. “You know I can’t do this without you.”

Shaking my head, I tried to ignore my rapidly thickening cock and the plea in his voice. “I have to get ready.”

“Please, help me with this? I need you.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You’re better than this.”

“Better than what?” He pushed his hips forward, rubbing himself against me and biting his lip suggestively. The little shit was doing it on purpose and what was worse, he was getting off on it. So much for innocent. “Am I really better than you? Better than Yuri? Or Sergei?”

I looked down sharply once that awful name crossed his lips. Roan didn’t seem concerned with anything except unzipping my jeans and slipping his hand inside.

“You’re better than all of us,” I managed to spit out, trying and failing to ignore his persistent strokes.

“No, I’m not.” He reached deeper, massaging my balls.

“Roan…”

“Sasha…” There was that purr again as he slid down my body. Trailing his hands over my abdomen, he pulled my jeans down as he got on his knees. His teeth raked across his bottom lip while he looked up at me with those big blue eyes again. Brushing his lips along my cock, his tongue slipped out for the return trip and he licked the pre-cum off the tip in one, slow motion.

“Please?” he asked.

I closed my eyes and sighed, as much from exasperation as from the wave of pleasure rolling through me.

No. I wouldn’t fall for it. I was stronger than that. I was disciplined. More than disciplined. Unlike last time, I could withstand his temptation. I could withstand anything if I really put my mind to it. I’d made it this far in life by sheer fucking willpower. I could hold out through one goddamn blowjob. Not like last time…

A euphoric feeling enveloped my cock, hot and wet and velvety at the same time. The urge to run my fingers through his golden hair hit me hard, but I resisted. Pressing myself against the wall, I refused to thrust or do anything other than stand there, willing myself not to feel anything.

“Pozhaluysta?” he murmured, immediately resuming his attempt at persuading me. His hand wrapped around the base of my shaft, adding extra friction while he sucked and licked the head of my cock.

My eyes popped open at the Russian please. When the fuck did he learn that? And a blowjob was when he decided to trot it out for the first time? This fucking kid… I swear to God.

No. He learned one word in Russian — maybe more, but for the sake of argument it was just the one. That didn’t mean I was going to cave and do whatever he wanted. He could pout those perfect lips and give me puppy eyes and… fuck!

My own eyes rolled back right as my head thunked against the wall, his mouth and hand working relentlessly.

No.

I was the logical one.

He was the dreamer. And now he was fucking crazy.

My answer was no.

That was final.

25

SASHA

“THIS IS SO FUCKED UP,” Eduard mumbled in Russian, ramming the finger of one hand into the webbing of the other, working the leather gloves down further until they were tight.

“You’re telling me.” I stamped out my cigarette on the door panel and flicked the butt to the back of the van.

“I can’t believe you said yes. What the fuck is wrong with you? One kidnapping a year isn’t enough for you? Are we going to kidnap the whole goddamn family by New Year’s?”

“What was I supposed to say?”

“Uh, how about ‘no’? Did you try that? ‘No' is a pretty universal concept, even for spoiled Americans.”

“I can’t tell him no.”

“That’s because you’ve gone soft. You’re letting a twelve year old order you around and you just take it. And then you bring me into it! Asshole.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I flipped him off anyway and pulled my own gloves on. I tried to hold out. I really did. But goddamn him. Roan obliterated every defense I had, driving me so crazy I couldn’t stand it. I was nothing but fucking putty in his hands.

“He’s not twelve,” I muttered.

Eduard stared at me, his lips pursed. “That is all you heard?”

“You’re more of a fucking nag than he is, you know that? I thought you’d be happy to get away from your computer for a while, get your hands dirty again. Or have you gone soft?”

“Fuck you, Sasha. Fucking queer pain in my ass. I should have shot you when I had the chance. You and your little bunny up there, then I wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess. Stealing cars and kidnapping people again. I’m getting too old for this!”

“You’re barely thirty. Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re getting too old for this!”

“Do you want to see forty? Keep talking.”

“Um, I don’t know what kind of argument you two are having back there,” Roan said from the driver’s seat, tipping his chin toward the jogger coming down the path, “but there he is.”

Eduard tossed me a mask before pulling his down over his face.

Once we were sufficiently disguised, we crouched next to the sliding door and waited.

Roan started the van and drove through the parking lot of the forest preserve slowly. Since it was so early, there weren’t any other cars to worry about.

When he pulled up alongside his father, I threw the door open. Eduard hooked a bag around Phillip’s head and yanked him back while I grabbed him by the legs. Together, we dragged him into the van, despite his twisting and yelling.

Eduard tightened his hold, trying to dodge Phillip’s elbows. I punched directly into the center of the bag. Something crunched and Phillip swore loudly.

While he was distracted with his injury, I slipped the syringe out of my pocket and jabbed the needle into his arm.

Once he was out, Eduard went to lift the bag, but I waved him off. “Leave it. I don’t give a fuck if he suffocates.”

“That went well,” Roan said over his shoulder. He grinned at me and drove away, happy as a little clam, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to whatever was on the radio.

Eduard opened his mouth, but I held up a gloved finger. “Don’t even say it.”

PER ROAN’S REQUEST, I assembled a smaller cage for our guest of honor. I didn’t, however, take him back to the warehouse from the first time. Since it had been burned by the police, I opted for another establishment — the basement of Delirium. It was secure, loud, and I could check on my new captive whenever I needed to.

After the drugs knocked his ass out, Eduard and I stuffed Phillip into a crate and drove straight to the club. With the help of a dolly, I wheeled him in through the service entrance and down the elevator.

“You want me to stay?” Eduard asked.

I glanced at Roan and shook my head. “No. We’ve got it. Take care of the van.”

Eduard shook his head as well and walked away, muttering, “This is so fucked up.”

“You know I can still hear you, you fucking nag,” I called after him.

He flipped me off right as the elevator doors closed.

Alone with Roan and the crate, I folded my arms and watched him. He was walking around the dark, dingy room with a creased brow. At that moment, it felt like one of the worst decisions I’d ever made.

What if it was too much for him? What if it brought up memories he wanted to forget? What if he had enough time to process everything and now he saw me for the monster I really was? What if, in trying to give him all that he asked for, I ruined all that I ever wanted?

“What happened to the other place?” Roan asked quietly, interrupting the flurry of questions in my head.

“We don’t use it anymore.”

“Does Sergei know we’re down here?”

I nodded. Of course Sergei knew. Sergei knew everything. As soon as he caught wind Phillip’s bank was being investigated by FBI, he tasked Misha with getting to the bottom of it. I vowed to get him answers personally. Little did I realize the answers were right in front of me the whole goddamn time.

Needless to say, when I approached Sergei about bringing Phillip here, he was all too happy to give me free rein.

“It doesn’t smell the same,” Roan said distractedly, touching a large, dirty pipe and frowning at the black smudges on his fingertips. “It is cold, though.”

Uncrossing my arms, I approached him slowly, afraid to make any sudden movements around him like a frightened horse. “You don’t need to be here for this.”

He looked up, the frown deepening. “Yes, I do.”

“I don’t want you to—” Shaking my head, I cut myself off and looked at the chainlink cage I’d welded together just days ago. I didn’t want to bring up anything that might upset him, but this whole situation was bound to stir up memories and feelings, things best left alone. It did for me and I wasn’t the one who had been kidnapped. “This whole thing is fucked up. And this is fucked up” — I gestured between us — “I know that. I don’t expect you to forget, but I don’t want you to relive what happened.”

“I don’t blame you for any of that,” Roan said, his voice soft.

“You should.” What the fuck was I even saying? Why would I encourage him to hate me and fucking leave? God, I couldn’t even look at him anymore. Dragging a hand down my face, I turned my back to him and exhaled a sharp breath.

A moment later, his hands slipped around my waist and crossed over my abdomen. The warmth from the rest of his body pressed into my back. “Do you love me?”

I turned in his arms, brow furrowed. When he blinked back at me, I flung a hand toward the crate. What the fuck kind of a question was that? I said I did. Twice. Sort of three times. How many more times did I need to say it? Wasn’t this whole fucked-up situation enough to show him how much I loved him? That I would risk going back to prison just to make him happy?

He glanced in the direction I indicated, clearly unimpressed, or unmoved by the gesture. “Sasha, do you love me?”

“Of course I fucking love you!”

“Then forget the rest, because it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

“I love you and you love me. That’s all I care about.”

“But—”

“No. No ‘buts.’” He stretched up and kissed me, pulling away all too soon with a soft sigh. “Now let’s get this asshole out of the box.”

26

ROAN

SEEING my dad passed out inside a legit dog kennel was fucking surreal. If he kept his head bent, he had enough room to stand, but no matter how he laid, he wouldn’t be able to stretch out completely. Sasha gave him the illusion of space, when in reality he had none. It was reminiscent of my childhood the longer I thought about it.

“Now what?” I asked.

“You can leave him like that, or we can take his clothes off. Your call.”

Well, that wasn’t helpful. I bit my lips, trying to decide. “What made you leave my clothes on?”

Sasha cleared his throat and looked away, scratching the back of his neck. He didn’t blush, but he looked like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Saving him the embarrassment of pressing for an actual answer, I made my own decision. “Ok, off. Mostly. I don’t need to see all of that,” I said, waving a hand toward my dad’s groin.

Nodding, he slipped a knife out of his pocket and flicked it open with an expert motion that was strangely hot. A couple of quick slashes later and he ripped off all of the clothes except for Dad’s briefs.

Ducking out of the cage with the wad of clothing tucked under his arm, he said, “I’m going to burn these.” He was two steps away when he stopped abruptly and gave me a stern look. “Do not open that door.”

I held my hands up. “Wasn’t going to.”

He stared at me for a moment before disappearing into another part of the basement.

I walked around the side of the cage and squatted down next to Dad’s unconscious body. His nose was bloody and crooked. I’m pretty sure Sasha broke it again. That fact alone made me smile. He was always a vain son of a bitch.

“I can’t wait for you to wake up,” I said with a sigh, rising slowly. “Too bad I won’t be here to see it.”

Pulling his cell phone out of my pocket, I scrolled through his emails, his text messages. His life was on this phone and now I had complete control over it. The rush of power was exhilarating, but I had to keep it together. Our actions moving forward had to be precise. One wrong move and the entire thing would crumble.

I was still in the midst of sending a variety of emails when Sasha returned. When I glanced up, he tossed his head toward the door. “Are you hungry?”

“What about him?”

“He won’t be awake for a while.”

“What if he wakes up while we’re gone, though?”

Sasha rapped his knuckles against the concrete blocks. “So what? No one is going to hear him up there. He can scream all he wants.”

“Yeah, ok.” I trusted him. I had to trust him. Other than my brief experience as his captive, I had no idea how any of this worked. For good or bad, Sasha was the expert here. I was firmly on his side of the law now and I needed to play it smart or we’d both end up in prison.

We headed back upstairs, cutting through the kitchen and out to the back alley.

“Do you want to go home, or go out?” Sasha asked.

I glanced at the time again and shrugged. “Out, I guess. It’ll be quicker. Don’t forget, I have that conference call this afternoon about the production gig.”

We were almost to his Mercedes when another black SUV screeched to a halt in front of it. Two guys in suits bailed out from the passenger side, guns aimed at us.

Sasha threw his arm in front of me, knocking me back behind him before I even processed what the hell was happening. He had a gun drawn halfway when his opponents’ pistols cocked.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” one of the gunmen said, using his weapon to gesture to the ground. “Drop it, jagoff. Now!”

Sasha slid it out of the holster the rest of the way and held it out, letting it dangle from his finger by the trigger guard.

The guy snorted. “No fucking way. Put it on the ground and kick it over. Slowly.”

My heart slammed inside my ribcage, louder than the gun clattering on the asphalt. Sasha toed the gun across the way, using the opportunity to push me back even further. I had no idea where he thought I was going to go, but I sure as hell wasn’t leaving him like this.

A third man joined his friends, circling around the back of their vehicle with a smug smile on his face. “So we meet again.”

“How fortunate for me,” Sasha snapped. “Now I don’t have to look for you.”

The ringleader nodded toward the SUV they’d exited. “Get in the car.”

Sasha’s response was to spit in the alley between them and say something in Russian that probably wasn’t very nice.

The man nodded, like he expected that. “Ok. Let me lay it out for you. Your little pal can take off as long as you get in the car. If you don’t, you’re both dead.” He shrugged and spread his hands. “It’s a better deal than you gave Carmine, you commie prick. I even promise to leave you in one piece for the funeral.”

My fingers tightened in the back of Sasha’s shirt.

How the fuck was he going to get us out of this? They had guns and we—

Wait a minute.

Rule #3.

Any time he left the damn house he carried enough firepower on his body to hold off a small army. Sasha certainly wasn’t getting his dick sucked right now, but that’s why I had to establish the rule in the first place — so I didn’t accidentally shoot myself trying to get some.

I slid my fingers down his spine as slowly as I could. Instead of veering right, where his primary holster was, my hand drifted left, along the waistband of his jeans.

Come on, baby… please tell me you didn’t start listening to me…

“You have some balls showing up here,” Sasha said with a scoff. “You think my people won’t find you? You’ll be dead by sunrise. You and your families.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to issue threats.”

My fingers brushed something cold and hard under Sasha’s shirt. I bit the inside of my lip to make sure I didn’t inadvertently give anything away.

“Solnyshko.” Angling his head toward me, Sasha growled the word over his shoulder and not in a sexy kind of way.

“Ne perezhivaj, u menya vse pod kontrolem,” I whispered, hoping I didn’t fuck up the translation too badly. I wanted to let him know it was ok, that I had it under control — sort of. Hopefully he’d at least get the gist. Although in my defense, nothing in the Russian language was easy, except yes and no.

His head turned the rest of the way, his icy eyes full of warning. If those guys didn’t kill me, that look alone promised he would.

Oh, God. What the fuck did Ilya say? Eyes open. Inhale on the draw. Aim, hold your breath, and fire. Simple steps. Routine. We drilled and drilled and drilled. Day after day, I logged hours at the range. Hundreds, thousands of rounds.

But that was for fun, for fuck’s sake! I didn’t actually intend to use those lessons in real life! I just wanted to impress my boyfriend if we could ever go on a date like normal people! Same with the conversational Russian I decided to casually throw around in life and death situations — I didn’t expect to be fluent, I just wanted to try, for Sasha, so maybe he would communicate a little more.

“What’s it gonna be, asshole?” the guy across the alley said with a huff. “I ain’t got all day.”

“How many rounds do you think they’ll get off before I make it across this distance and rip your fucking throat out?” Sasha took a small step forward, giving me more room to move. “Think it’ll be enough to put me down?”

“Good point.” The leader tipped his chin toward me. “Put a bullet in his head.”

The guy closest to me moved forward, shifting his aim from Sasha to me.

I stopped thinking.

In a split second, I grabbed the pistol. All I heard was metal scraping against the kydex holster. I took a step to the side, raising the gun at the same time.

The recoil reverberated through my hands.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I couldn’t hear anything anymore, except the ringing in my ears. It was so much louder than I expected. So.fucking.loud.

The guy in front of me disappeared.

One by one, the guys across the alley disappeared.

Then Sasha was there, his piercing blue eyes the only thing in my line of sight. He touched my cheek and vanished again.

In slow motion, I watched Sasha cross the alley in smooth strides, a gun miraculously in hand. He fired directly into the face of leader. Six times, until his face looked like ground hamburger. Then he turned to the other guy and shot him in the face — once. He bent over the third man, the one who was ordered to kill me, and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, dragging him toward the backdoor of Delirium.

I didn’t move to follow him. I was too busy staring at the dead bodies laying less than fifteen feet away from me. Again. How many people had Sasha killed since I’d known him? Scratch that — it was probably impossible to know. How many had he killed in front of me? Four? Now seven? Shit. Was it only six? Did that mean I…?

The warm roughness of Sasha’s large hand covered mine while the other slid down my wrist. Carefully pulling the gun out of my hand, he ducked his face so he was eye level with me. “You’re ok?”

I nodded slowly, unsure if I really was or not. How could anyone be ok at a time like this? Well, any regular person. Of course Sasha was fine. He probably didn’t consider it a productive day if he didn’t kill or maim at least one person.

Nodding, he re-holstered the weapon and pulled out his cell phone, speaking rapidly in Russian to whoever answered. Whatever it was, it was a brief conversation.

Laying a hand on my shoulder, he physically turned me toward Delirium and started walking that way, keeping a grip on me.

“Is he...? Did I…?” I couldn’t even say it. I couldn’t even comprehend it. What the fuck had I just done?!

“No,” Sasha said, squeezing my shoulder.

A trail of blood led through the backdoor of the club, across the tiled floors, straight to the elevator.

Sasha and I rode the same elevator, except we went up, not down. Down where my father was being kept in a chainlink box. Down where a would-be assassin was apparently deposited. For what? Safe keeping? What the fuck was Sasha going to do to him? Why not just kill him, like his friends, and get it over with?

I stared at the puddle of blood in the corner of the steel box. Now I knew why this expensive club didn’t install carpeting inside the elevators. Why it wasn’t fancy, with mirrors and hand rails like our apartment building.

Stepping out on the third floor, Sasha guided me through the halls to what essentially looked like a studio apartment. There was a kitchenette, a couch with a TV, a single bed and from what I could see through a cracked door at the far end, a bathroom.

“Sit.” He didn’t even give me time to comprehend the command before he shoved me down onto the couch.

“He’s not dead?” I asked. How could he not be dead? There was so much blood.

“Not yet.”

I covered my mouth with my hand, turning away from him in case I threw up.

“You did what you had to,” Sasha said in a moment of deja vu. “Look at me.” He cupped the back of my head and pulled me toward him, his gaze locked on mine. “You did well. I’m proud of you.”

Nodding, I tried to slow down my racing thoughts. The warmth from his praise poked at the strange numbness in my stomach. I focused on that feeling. Three little words, followed by four little words. Soft, loving sentiment after a shooting. How fucked up was that? He was proud of me for trying to murder someone. That’s not something you should be fucking proud of. But it was Sasha, after all, and making him proud was better than focusing on the guilt.

Sasha pressed his forehead to mine and held my face gently, exhaling a slow, steady breath. Pulling away, he kissed my forehead and reclined on the couch, dragging me with him like a rag doll.

I laid my head on his chest, listening to the steadiness of his heartbeat. He was so calm. So unaffected. Like a rock. For once, I saw the benefit in being hard, for seeing the world in black and white. It simplified everything and gave you a clean conscience.

They were going to kill us. We killed them. It was that simple. Us versus them. I’d always choose us. It wasn’t even a choice, really. Somehow breaking it down like that made it easier to stomach.

I don’t know how long we laid together. It could have been forever and I wouldn’t have cared. All I needed was him, his strong arms wrapped around me, our legs twined together. As long as he was there, I knew I’d be ok. Everything would be ok.

After a while, he cleared his throat softly. “Solnyshko?”

“Hmm?”

“Where the fuck did you learn to shoot?”

I held my breath for a minute before answering. It wasn’t that I was keeping it a secret, per se, but it was something I’d wanted to surprise Sasha with. At the very least, not make an idiot out of myself if we ever did go shooting. “Ilya.”

He nodded, his arms tightening around me. “And the Russian?”

“Ilya…” Again... not a secret, more like a happy surprise.

He nodded again. “Did Ilya teach you anything else?”

Inwardly I cringed, for both myself and my poor bodyguard. “How to beat you in Durak…”

“That’s it. He’s fired.” Sasha swung one leg down off the couch and started to sit up.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, poking him in the ribs. He squirmed away from my hand, a chuckle rumbling through him as he laid down again.

“I wouldn’t. I think after today he deserves a promotion,” he murmured, kissing my temple.

It was my turn to sit up, slowly, surveying my surroundings with a somewhat clearer perspective. “What is this place? A crash pad?”

“Mhmm. For when it’s not safe to be home.” He shifted me off his lap and stood, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table. He tapped one halfway out of the packaging, holding it out to me.

I made a face and shook my head. “No, thank you.”

Shrugging, he slipped it between his lips and lit up. He wandered away from me, his attention alternating between his cigarette and his cell phone, texting away.

“What about the two in the alley?” I asked, rubbing my palms on the top of my knees. “Like, their bodies. Their car.”

“Gone.”

“Gone? Just like that?”

He exhaled smoke through his nose, like a dragon, and shot me a look that told me to stop asking questions.

Fat chance. He should have known better by now.

“What about the other one?” I was suddenly aware of my knees bouncing beneath my palms. Plastering my hands to the top of my legs, I tried to rein in my jumpy muscles.

“I thought we could use him.”

“We? As in we?” I gestured between us.

He inhaled one last drag before snuffing the cigarette out in an ash tray on the small kitchen table. By the time he reclaimed his seat on the couch, he’d already popped a stick of wintergreen gum, the muscles and tendons in his jaw working casually. How was it possible to be sexy without even trying? He was chewing gum, for God’s sake.

And I should not be focused on how hot he was. I should be worried about police and investigations and the fact I fucking shot someone! Jesus Christ, Roan!

“You want your father to suffer?” Sasha raised his brows at me. “Let me show him what’s in store for him on another human.”

Following his train of thought made me grimace. “You’re going to torture that guy?”

“Yes.” Fuck, he didn’t even blink!

“Why?” I practically gasped the word. “Why not kill him and be done with it?”

“He was going to kill you. He doesn’t get off that easy,” Sasha replied, as if the answer was obvious. “Are you still hungry?”

“What?”

“Breakfast.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, brunch now. Right? Brunch? That’s the word?”

If he was anyone else, I would have thought he was fucking joking. “You cannot talk about torturing someone to death and then turn around and take me to brunch!”

“Why not?” Of course he blinked that time. Not over torture and death — food. “You’re hungry. Let’s go eat. It’s going to be a long day for me.” As he stood, he smacked my cheek lightly and motioned me to my feet.

I was shellshocked all over again, but somehow I did what he wanted, trudging toward the door.

This was so fucked up. I thought kidnapping my dad was the most illegal activity I’d ever participate in. Now, here I was, on my way to brunch after shooting someone and watching my boyfriend murder two more people. As tempted as I was to ask about his total body count, I didn’t think I wanted to. It was probably astronomical given how blasé he was about the whole murder thing.

Before I could even help it, my mouth moved faster than my brain. “Do you even know how many people you’ve killed? Like, a ballpark number?”

He flashed me a dazzling smile, accompanied by a dark laugh that gave me goosebumps. He was so beautiful, and utterly lethal. And he was all mine.

27

SASHA

ILYA MET us at the diner an hour later. When he approached our booth, he glanced between Roan and I, clearly trying to gauge which side was the safer option. I slid to the side, stretching my arm along the back of the red vinyl in invitation.

He cleared his throat and sat, his shoulders tensing when I draped my arm around them and pulled him closer.

“Seems you’ve been leaving some things out of the daily report,” I said quietly, digging my fingers into his bicep.

Ilya looked at Roan. I grabbed his jaw and turned his face toward me. “Don’t look at him. He’s not going to save you.”

“Sir, I—”

“I already know the truth. I don’t need your excuses. Or was it a lie you were about to tell me?”

Ilya promptly shut his mouth, swallowing hard.

Roan sighed, looking as exasperated as he sounded. “Sasha, stop fucking with him.”

Ilya snuck a glance at Roan out of the corner of his eye, like he wanted to believe him, but he also knew better. Smart boy.

“Durak?” I narrowed my eyes at Ilya, growling out the word. “You taught him how to win in Durak?”

His shoulders relaxed as he let out the breath he’d been holding. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Mhmm.” I let him go and slid back, giving him some room. “I still wish you would have told me about all of your other lessons, though.”

Ilya’s eyes widened again. “You know?”

My attention drifted back to Roan. I gave him a small smile, that warm feeling nestled in the center of my chest again. “He saved our lives today.”

Ilya’s head whipped toward Roan as well. “What?! What happened?”

“Carmine’s men. Out for revenge,” I replied in Russian, in case any of the other patrons were a little too interested in our conversation. “Three shots, center mass. A little low, but impressive enough for the first time, especially while he was on the move.”

Ilya beamed at Roan like a proud parent.

“No, don’t be happy,” Roan said, ducking his head and wrapping both hands around his coffee cup. “You guys shouldn’t be happy about this. This is bad. So fucking bad…”

“Did the guy get away or something?” Ilya frowned, looking at me for the answer.

“No. He’s in the basement.” Ilya made a face at my reply, just as confused by Roan’s reaction as I was. I shrugged and gestured with one hand. “He’ll come around. It’s still all so new to him.”

“Want me to talk to him? He might be more honest with me than you.”

“You can try.” I furrowed my brows as my brain processed the last part of what he said. “What the fuck does that mean? Why wouldn’t he be honest with me?”

“Because?” Ilya’s blue eyes widened, like he was trying to get me to understand via telepathy. “You’re the fucking Wolf?”

“Could you guys not talk about me? I’m literally right here.” Roan huffed and shoved his coffee cup away, his glare darting between the two of us.

I ignored him, keeping my focus on Ilya. I did, however, switch back to English so Roan would quit pouting. “Can you take him home? I have work.”

Ilya nodded. “Of course. Do you want me to stay?”

“That’s up to him,” I said, tossing my head toward Roan. “There’s no way they know who he is, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

Roan scoffed. “Jesus. It’s not any better in English, you know. I am still right here.”

Ilya chuckled, sliding out of the booth and leading the way to the door.

While I settled the bill, Roan followed him outside.

Rejoining them on the sidewalk, I snagged Roan’s fingertips before he climbed into Ilya’s BMW. I pulled him back to me with a quick tug. His blond brows dipped in a silent question.

“You will be ok,” I said quietly, lacing my fingers through his fully. “You’re strong, Roan. One of the strongest people I know. Don’t ever doubt that.”

His gaze dropped and he hesitated before speaking. “You’re not mad I didn’t kill him?”

Lifting his chin with one finger, I held his gaze steadily, wishing there was more I could do to convince him. Something. Anything. “Never. And I would never ask you to.”

Despite his nod, he looked as skeptical as before.

Without another word, his hand slipped out of mine and he climbed into Ilya’s car. I sent Ilya a quick text with a simple directive — Don’t let him get caught up in his head.

Once the BMW was out of sight, I inhaled a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Cracking my neck from side to side, I turned and headed in the opposite direction.

PHILLIP WAS awake by the time I got back. I made sure the gaiter was pulled up over my nose before dragging Dino, or whatever the fuck his name was, into the room.

“You are so fucked,” Phillip spat as soon as I appeared. “You are going to regret ever laying a fucking finger on me.”

Sure, I wasn’t. Even if he hadn’t been abandoned by all of his friends and associates, I had nothing to fear from a dickhead in an expensive suit.

Stringing Dino up by his hands in front of the kennel, I anchored the chain to the wall and retrieved my duffel bag from the corner.

“Are you fucking listening to me?!” Phillip yelled, shaking the chainlink as hard as he could.

I slipped one hand into the bag and rummaged around, taking my time walking back to the pair before ultimately coming to a stop in front of the cage.

Phillip glared at me, hanging on to the door, much like his son had. “Had a change of heart? Huh? Realize you’re a fucking dead man walking?”

Smiling to myself, I slammed the ball-peen hammer into his knuckles as hard as I could.

He screamed, yanking his mangled fingers back through the chainlink.

All of the screaming roused Dino. He picked his head up and looked around, blood dripping from the bullet holes in his abdomen at a steady rate.

Tossing the bag near Dino, along with the hammer, I held up a filet knife instead.

“Call Joey,” Dino sputtered. “He’ll deal, ok? He didn’t know Tony was going to do this.”

I sliced off the top button of his shirt with a flick of my wrist.

“Come on, man.”

A second button dropped to the ground.

“I got money.”

And another.

“Please, goddamn it! I got kids!”

By the final button he stopped begging and switched to praying.

Pausing momentarily, I turned halfway to make sure Phillip was paying attention. The asshole didn’t know where to look — at me, or at Dino.

I kept my gaze on the senior Sinclair when I plunged the knife into the Italian’s soft belly. A rush of blood shot out, pooling at my feet. Changing my grip on the handle, I ripped it sideways, cutting right through his abdominal muscles. Intestines spilled out of him like sausages, hitting the cement with wet splats.

“You’re a fucking savage!” Phillip shouted from the corner of his confinement, holding his crippled hand against his chest.

Dino was still twitching and jerking when I walked around behind him. Grabbing a fistful of hair, I yanked his head back and repeated the same deep slash across his throat. Blood sprayed in front of him, sadly not far enough to drench Phillip, but the visual effect was still cinematic.

With Dino’s head practically decapitated, it wasn’t much effort to slip the filet blade between his vertebrae and sever it the rest of the way.

Tossing the head back and forth in my hands like a football, I strolled over to Phillip.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he asked, his voice hollow. It took watching another human literally lose their head for him to realize the severity of his situation and to learn bravado would get him absolutely nowhere with me — nor would begging. But at least it was progress.

I still didn’t answer him. Sliding the knife up inside Dino’s throat, I scraped along the backside in a scooping motion, slicing through more muscles and the lingual arteries.

Pulling the knife back out, I jammed it into one of Dino’s eyeballs before sticking my now-free hand back into the underside of his throat. I didn’t have to double-check to make sure Phillip was watching me closely — he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the minute Dino’s guts hit the floor.

Yanking the tongue and arteries out from the Italian’s throat, I let the head fall and kicked it out of my way. It rolled until it thumped against the knife handle and stopped, rocking back and forth.

I stepped up to the edge of the chainlink, studying the tongue before slapping it against the side of the kennel, holding it in place so Phillip could see it up close and personal.

After the initial horror wore off, his eyes narrowed in recognition. “You fucking animal. It’s you.”

Pulling the gaiter down, I greeted him with a dark smile. “Scared now?”

Revealing my identity was a calculated risk but it was worth the satisfaction of seeing this asshole’s face when he realized how much he’d fucked up. He already had me arrested once; it wouldn’t happen a second time. As of right now, there was no proof of his kidnapping. I could let him go that very moment, right in front of a police station, and there wouldn’t be anything to prove I kidnapped him, or even broke his fingers.

Phillip came closer to the chainlink, refueled by his anger. “Does my son know I’m here?”

“Now you care about him?”

“Just wondering what he’d think if he knew what a sadistic psychopath you are.”

“What makes you think he doesn’t already know?” I smirked at him.

Phillip’s cold gaze took me in from head to toe and back again, his lip curling in obvious disgust. “There’s no way in hell he’d be with a fucking barbarian like you if he knew the truth.”

“Because he’s too good? Too kind?”

“Too weak,” Phillip snapped. “He’s too much of his mother’s son.”

“And you think you’re stronger than he is?”

“I know I am. I didn’t make it this far in life by rolling over and fucking taking it up the ass. He wouldn’t last a day in my shoes.”

“We’ll see.” I let go of the tongue. It landed on the floor with another splat. Phillip jerked back, glowering at the tongue.

Chuckling, I turned and headed for the door. Pausing next to the small radio, I turned on the special playlist for guests like Phillip — a cacophony of babies crying, men howling in pain, metal screeching over glass, and death metal. I made sure the volume was up as loud as it would go and flipped the switch for the strobe light before closing the door behind me.

28

ROAN

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW?” Sasha groaned, burying his face into my ribcage and dragging me closer. The stubble on his cheek scraped my skin, but I hardly noticed as I continued typing, making sure my sentence structure and word choice matched the other examples perfectly.

“Sending emails,” I replied.

Something along the lines of “It’s three in the morning,” rumbled out of him, muffled by me and the mattress.

“But it’s ten in the morning in Zurich.”

“What?” He lifted his head, black brows furrowed and pale eyes bleary. “Who the fuck cares what’s happening in Zurich?”

“My dad.” I hit send and tossed the phone to the side. “All part of the coverup. This last minute ‘trip’ he’s on is now in his schedule, which only he and Joyce have access to. He’s emailing and texting people while he’s ‘away,’ so no one will be the wiser. And when we let him go, he can go to the police all he wants, but who is going to believe him? He literally has no proof other than his injuries, which could have been self-inflicted. How did you break his fingers, anyway?”

“Hammer,” he answered distractedly, his brows still knitted together. “Should I be concerned with the amount of thought you put into all of this?”

“Nope.” I kissed his lips and slid down the mattress, rolling over and settling into my pillow. “Goodnight!”

“No, no, no.” His hand snaked under my arm and planted against my shoulder, rolling me onto my back again. “What else are you planning?”

I couldn’t help but sigh. “Which part?”

He raised both brows. “How many parts are there?”

“Four. Maybe five. It depends on how Part Four goes, I guess.”

“What part are we in now?”

“Oh, we’re still only on Part Two.”

“When is Three?”

“Whenever we let him go.”

“So what’s Part Four?”

“Babe, I’m really tired. Can we talk about this in the morning?” I tried to roll over again, but he wasn’t having it. He pinned me to the mattress, his hand on the center of my chest this time.

“It is morning,” he growled.

It was my turn to groan. I really didn’t want to get into all of the logistics but it was obvious he wasn’t going to let it go. It was only fair, I suppose, to clue him in since he was technically the muscle behind the whole operation.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I shook myself awake and tried to keep it as concise as possible. “Ok. Cliff’s Notes. We let him go. He undoubtedly goes to the police. I deal with my mother and whatever cops he tries to send after us. The FBI will really get involved this time, as opposed to the rumor Bennett started. Once he gets arrested on federal charges, I’ll convince Mom to finally divorce his ass to save her own neck. Felony charges for him and a nasty prenup for her means I get the controlling shares of NIB&T and I’ll finally be able to pay you back for all of the money you’ve spent because of me.”

He blinked.

I blinked back.

His lips parted and promptly closed again.

I lifted both brows, waiting.

After I don’t know how many minutes of him staring at me like I was a complete stranger, I finally blurted out, “Just say something!”

“Goodnight.” He rolled away from me slowly, facing the opposite direction. It didn’t escape my notice that he shifted toward the edge of the mattress, like he might have to make a break for it in the middle of the night.

Shaking my head, I suppressed a sigh. “You asked,” I huffed in my defense, flopping onto my side again.

HOURS after I clued Sasha in on the extent of my evil plan, he announced my presence was needed at Delirium — part of his plan, apparently. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but he was insistent. Sure, I’d organized my father’s kidnapping and authorized his subsequent torture, but that didn’t mean I actually wanted to see the results.

I honestly didn’t know what I was expecting when I walked into that basement. Sasha had been at it for days. Nothing bad, he assured me. But his definition of “bad” and mine were two very different things. I’m sure compared to whatever hell he’d lived through, everything else seemed like a breeze.

The first thing that hit me was the smell. Blood and urine. Either Sasha had no sense of smell anymore, or he’d become accustomed to it since he made a face at me when I covered my nose and stifled a gag. “Are you going to be sick?”

I shook my head, willing myself to suck it up. The sooner I did whatever he wanted, the sooner I could get back outside to fresh air.

My father was still inside the cage, sitting in the very center, holding himself and shivering uncontrollably. Water dripped steadily from one of the pipes that ran above the cage. It wasn’t running, like a faucet, but it was just enough that the droplets were continuous. There was no escaping it; the entire bottom of the cell was wet. Given how cold it was down here, it wasn’t surprising he was freezing.

A large pool of blood stained one corner of the room, a thick chain dangling above it. There was a pile of wires and metal clips in another corner. And a towel. A bloody towel, folded neatly and laying next to an unzipped black duffel bag, a metal pipe hanging out the side. I couldn’t get past the towel. What the fuck was it for? Why was that the only thing that had any semblance of order to it? Why was it folded instead of haphazardly tossed aside?

“You were supposed to scare him,” I whispered, trying to process everything in front of me.

“Doesn’t he look scared?” Sasha gestured to the cage, like I didn’t believe him.

“Roan?”

I startled at the sound of my dad’s voice. Walking toward the cage slowly, I was almost there when Sasha’s hand clamped on my shoulder, halting me in my tracks.

“No,” he said quietly when I threw a questioning glance his way. “No affection. No comfort. If you do, this starts over again.”

Comforting my dad wasn’t high on my list of priorities but I wasn’t fucking heartless. “Then why am I here?”

He gave me a sad smile, but it was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by the hardened expression he wore when he was in full-on criminal mode. “To give him hope — so I can crush him with it.”

“He’s half-dead as it is.”

Sasha looked past me, studying the quaking blue lump of a human in the cell with a narrowed, calculating gaze. He didn’t look bothered in the slightest. “He’s fine,” he concluded, returning his attention to me.

“Fine? That’s your definition of fine? He’s on the verge of hypothermia! What if he strokes out or has a fucking heart attack? His cholesterol is through the roof, you know.”

Sasha still didn’t look concerned. I guess it was hard for someone who lived in one of the coldest places on the earth to be bothered by any temperature above freezing. “I lived through worse. He’ll be fine.”

“He’s not you, Sasha. He’s not built for…” I was at a loss for words, so I just gestured up and down, indicating his massive size. He could probably survive anything, thanks to a combination of his incredible physique and his fucking stubbornness.

“For what?” Sasha snapped, his eyes narrowed. “To be beaten? To be electrocuted? Starved? Strangled? Kept awake for days? To finally die, by the mercy of God, only to be brought back by the fucking doctor on standby?” He lowered his face fraction of an inch, his gravelly voice warning me I was dangerously close to territory I wasn’t supposed to wander. “No one is built for that. That is the point. That is why it is torture.”

Guilt and sorrow ripped through my gut. I reached for his face, but Sasha jerked away, like I was trying to slap him. He stalked over to the cage, twisting one of the valves on the pipe overhead to shut off the water.

As soon as he unlocked the door, Dad started shaking his head, mumbling almost incoherently. “No. No. No more. No.”

Sasha ignored him. Ducking inside the cage, he grabbed ahold of my dad’s wrist and dragged him out, depositing him at my feet like a cat bringing its owner a mouse.

Dad didn’t even move. He curled up into a ball, breathing hard. Sasha planted a boot onto his shoulder and forcibly rolled him over, taking a picture of him with his phone.

My father looked… wretched. Like something out of a horror movie. His skin was pale and stretched a little too thin across his bones, his lips blue even in the dim light. His broken fingers were purple, gnarled and pressed to his chest tightly, like he could protect them. There were a couple of strange red blotches across his body, some ringed with white while others had black edges. Before I realized it, my gaze flicked back to the wires. They were electrical burns.

A second later, the photo popped up on my phone.

“Let’s see if someone cares enough to pay your ransom, hmm?” Sasha crouched down next to him, patting his cheek roughly.

“I’m sorry,” Dad said, squeezing his eyes shut with a wince. He blinked them open again, tears or residual water droplets leaking from the corners. “Roan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought they were bluffing.”

As much as I hated him, as much as I wanted him to suffer, seeing my father like that wasn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped. It made me sick. Yet, at the same time, it brought about a sense of relief — knowing this could have been my fate had Sasha chosen differently. There was that black-and-white thinking again: me or him. If any Sinclair was going to be tortured to the brink of death, I’d rather it be him. I’d already suffered enough for one lifetime.

“It hurts to see how far you’ve fallen,” I quoted, surprised at the iciness of my own voice.

I couldn’t tell if he remembered saying that to me or not. Sasha didn’t give him the chance to respond. He dragged him back to the kennel and tossed him inside like a sack of potatoes, slamming the door shut.

“Let’s go,” he grumbled, steering me toward the door.

On the ride back to our apartment, I sent the ransom demand to my mother, complete with the horrifying proof of life picture.

As expected, she called me immediately. “Roan! Where are you?!”

“Driving,” I replied truthfully. “What’s wrong?”

She broke down into sobs, choking out the answer. I let the phone fall away from my ear and I still didn’t have any trouble hearing her high-pitched shrieking. She ended her hysterics with, “I don’t know what to do!”

“Mom, you have to pay it,” I said calmly. “It’s Dad we’re talking about.”

“They want thirty million, Roan! We don’t have that kind of money in savings! Where am I going to get the rest?”

“Liquidate everything,” I replied.

She gasped. There went those proverbial pearls again. “Everything?!”

“It’s the only way you’re going to have enough to cover it. Or you could always borrow it from your friends… Maybe Anita—”

She sobbed again, cutting me off. “No, no. I’ll call the accountant right away. Should I call the police?”

“Didn’t they say not to?”

“They always say that!” she shrieked.

Not always. Somehow the bitter thought remained locked in my brain, remembering my own ransom demand as clear as day.

“Call the accountant. Do not call the police. And I’ll check in with you later tonight, ok?” She whimpered something that sounded like an agreement. “Mom, it’s going to be ok. Just do what they say and it’ll all work out. Ok?”

She didn’t say anything else. All I heard was her crying until she disconnected. Part of me felt bad, the part that loved my mother for being the lesser of two evils. But the other part of me couldn’t help but feel betrayed. Perhaps if she’d shown an iota of that concern for me earlier this year, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.

A minute later she replied to the email, agreeing to get the money.

“Will she really do it?” Sasha asked, casually shifting his hand to my thigh, his fingers providing a steady sort of pressure that kept me from losing my shit.

“Of course she will. She doesn’t have a choice.”

“She didn’t do anything for you.”

As much as I wanted to ignore him, he wasn’t wrong. At the same time, I really didn’t want to think about it anymore than I already had. The goal was to look forward, not back, like Sasha said. “This time she doesn’t have that asshole stopping her.”

Neither of us spoke again until we were back home. Wordlessly, we headed into the kitchen, making dinner together like a normal couple and not one who’d spent the day elbow-deep in an elaborate plot for revenge. He chopped vegetables while I kept an eye on the cabbage head boiling in a stock pot. Just an average day in the life, I guess, with the Russian mafia.

I couldn’t tell if our silence was the good kind or the bad kind. I mean, Sasha was never chatty, but he seemed to be extra quiet since he took me to see my dad. I didn’t know if that meant he was pissed about something or thinking about what he told me earlier. I sure as hell was. Now that it was just the two of us, I couldn’t think about anything else. Sasha’s words kept replaying in my brain, over and over, interspersed with flashes of his face — the pain, the rage, etched onto every line and burning in his blue eyes.

Beaten. Electrocuted.

Starved. Strangled.

Die.

He wasn’t talking in general terms or hyperbole. He was way too fucking specific for it to be hypothetical. That was a memory I inadvertently made him face, a truth he furiously unleashed.

No one is built for that.

That is the point.

That is why it is torture.

When the cabbage was finally ready, soft but not mushy as he taught me, I grabbed the handles on the stock pot and immediately swore. Ripping my hands away from the scalding metal, I looked around for a pot holder. Before I found one, Sasha picked up the pot — with no pot holder, or towel, or anything — and dumped out the water without even flinching.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I asked, rubbing my poor fingertips together gently.

“Doesn’t what hurt?” He shot me a weird look and grabbed the steaming cabbage head with his bare hand, setting it on the cutting board.

“How are you not burning your hand right now?”

“I don’t really have feeling in them anymore.” Furthering his point, he peeled off cabbage leaves one by one, releasing tendrils of steam and more boiling water trapped inside as he disassembled it.

“Anymore?” I prompted softly, biting my lower lip while waiting to see what his reaction would be.

He paused for a split second. He may have kept his gaze on the cabbage, but it was long enough for me to notice the way his jaw clenched and his shoulders stiffened.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you’ve been through worse,” I said, filling up the heavy silence before it strangled me. He knew about the worst trauma in my life, I had to know his, if only so I didn’t fucking remind him of it, like I did today.

“Can you get the meat?” He trimmed along the spine of the cabbage leaf with a paring knife, helping to lay it flat. Still not looking at me.

“All of that stuff happened to you. Didn’t it? Was it here... or back in Russia?”

Sighing, he stepped around me, retrieving the bowl of meat filling himself. Instead of answering, he went back to making dinner, spooning the filling into the cabbage and rolling them into oblong packets.

“Was it when you were in prison?” I laid a hand on his shoulder blade gently.

He braced his hands on the counter before angling his head toward me, but not meeting my eyes. “It was a long time ago. There is no point in talking about it.” His gaze snapped up to mine. “And don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

I closed my mouth, biting my lips to make sure they stayed shut. Rubbing small circles on his back, I tried to think of something else to say, but all I had were questions. I started with the most basic, hoping he didn’t shut down on me entirely.

“Why…? Why would anyone do that?”

He straightened and turned to face me directly, lifting the hem of his shirt above the snarling wolf tattoo and the Cyrillic beneath it. “‘Man is wolf to man.’ You want to know why? Because they can. They did it to me. Now I do it to other people. It’s how it goes. Don’t waste your time asking ‘why.’”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that.” I knew from the way his eyes rolled he was already annoyed with my American optimism, so I pushed onward before he resumed his stony silence. “You don’t have to be like that, Sasha. Let other people be the Wolf from now on.”

“What are you saying?” The corners of his eyes tightened.

“When this is over with, I want you to quit. I want this to be your last job,” I said with way more confidence than I actually felt.

“Quit?”

“Yes, quit. Stop killing. Stop torturing. Retire. Whatever you call it.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t ‘quit’ a job like mine, Roan. There is only one way out.”

“Ok, then we’ll leave.”

“And go where?” He cocked his head, less pissed than I thought he’d be and more resigned to the cards Fate dealt him. “Where do you think I can go that they won’t find me? Men like Sergei won’t stop looking. He’ll send someone like me, or Misha or Valery. Someone who feels nothing when they cut your heart out, or slaughter your children right in front of you.”

He stated it simply, factually, and without emotion. I knew he wasn’t saying any of it to scare me, but it left me queasy anyway. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel anything. You felt something that night you told me about Lada. About Pavel. When you saw me in the hospital.”

He looked away sharply, his jaw setting.

“I know not to ask you what happened, or to ask if you’ll tell me what you’re thinking, let alone feeling. I just…” I sighed, trying to think of the right thing to say to a guy who’d suffered more than I could ever imagine. “I’m here, Sasha. Just remember I’m here. And I’ll do whatever it takes to help you start over, without all of this.”

His gaze darted back, eyes narrowed, like he was suspicious of my true intent. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t need it.”

“It’s love. And I know you don’t need it. You don’t need anything or anyone. You’ve made that abundantly clear. But I’m here if you want it.”

He looked like he was about to say something, then thought better of it. Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he reeled me in, folding me against chest. He huffed a sad sort of sigh, resting his cheek against the side of my head. “I’ll always want you, Solnyshko.”

29

SASHA

THREE DAYS after Roan sent the ransom demand, his mother emailed him a second time stating she’d done everything, as instructed. The bank Roan selected also sent an alert that the funds had been deposited, all thirty million of them.

Thus, I made one last trip to the basement of Delirium to be done with this asshole once and for all.

Jabbing a needle into the side of Phillip’s neck, I waited until he passed out before dragging him out again. Roan was right. He was already half-dead. There’s no way he’d put up any sort of a fight, but I’d rather haul around dead weight than listen to his moaning and whining apologies that were too little too late.

Stuffing Phillip into the back of another van, I climbed up after him and closed the doors.

“Where are we going?” Eduard asked, putting the vehicle into drive.

“State and Madison.”

“At this time of day? Are you crazy? It’s going to be crawling with people!”

“That’s the whole idea. Can you imagine how humiliating it will be for a man like this, who thinks so highly of himself, to be seen in public in this condition?”

“I don’t know who’s better at this whole revenge thing — you, or your bunny.” Eduard shook his head, shooting me an annoyed look in the rearview mirror.

“I guess we’ll find out whenever Kazimir shows himself.” I pulled my cigarettes out and lit two at the same time, handing one over to Eduard before taking a real drag of my own.

“Well, we know he knows about Daria,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke even as he spoke. “Sergei talked to him personally on the phone, but Kazimir wouldn’t reveal his location or what the fuck he’s doing here.”

“We know what he’s doing here. He’s probably looking for me. Or Misha.”

Eduard didn’t disagree, which wasn’t all that comforting.

“So, what did Sergei say?” I prompted.

“How sorry he was for his loss.” Eduard snorted, taking another quick puff. “Can you imagine? Apologizing to someone after you shot their brother?”

“Did he say anything else? About Viktor or Yuri?”

“Somehow Kazimir already knew about both of them. Except, he thinks it was you who killed Viktor.”

“Of course he does. I’m sure Dimitri told him and Sergei didn’t bother correcting him. Why would he?” I rubbed my forehead, willing away the dull throbbing that took up residence in my temples. It refused to budge, no matter how many cigarettes I smoked. “And now he’s coming to kill me, no doubt.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Sergei won’t sanction that. And besides, the man’s been in prison for the past ten years.”

“And you think that somehow makes him less dangerous?”

“It at least makes him ten years older.”

“And ten years angrier.”

“It’s not your fault he was arrested. Many people had it out for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Viktor was the one who tipped off the police, considering what he tried to pull with Sergei. I mean, there was a reason Viktor left Russia and I’m not sure it was necessarily by choice.”

“I know…” I inhaled as much nicotine as I could, releasing the smoke through my nose slowly.

“And it’s not your fault Daria was killed. Misha’s the one who should be worried about that.”

“I know that too.”

“Then what are you worried about?” Eduard asked with a shrug.

“What’s taking him so long to get here? We know he flew into New York. So where the fuck is he?”

Before Eduard could offer a possible answer, Phillip started to stir. Perfect timing.

“Are we close?” I asked, snuffing out my cigarette on the bottom of my boot.

“Two more blocks.”

Pulling up the black gaiter over my nose, I crouched next to the door, waiting for Eduard’s signal.

When the light changed green, Eduard whipped into the center of the intersection at State and Madison and slammed on the brakes. I threw open the back door and shoved Phillip out.

He hit the pavement hard and rolled a couple of feet before landing, face-down. Cars honked and tires screeched. People shouted — at us, at Phillip, at each other.

During the resulting chaos, Eduard gunned it, zigzagging away through the city grid as quickly as he could. “I can’t believe you just let him go. I thought for sure you would kill him for what he did.”

“It’s part of Roan’s plan.”

“Yeah, well I still can’t believe you’re letting him call the shots either. What the fuck does he know about any of this?”

“Apparently more than I gave him credit for,” I muttered and crawled up into the passenger seat next to him before shaking another cigarette out of the pack. Lighting up, I exhaled a stream of smoke through the cracked window.

Eduard blindly reached out with two fingers.

Grumbling, I relinquished my cigarette to him and lit another one.

“So what’s the plan for you two?” Eduard asked, blowing smoke toward his own window.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged, gesturing aimlessly with the hand that held the cigarette. “Once you get your millions from his parents, what are you going to do?”

“I have no choice but to stay here.”

“You can always disappear. I can help you, you know. New IDs. New passports.”

As tempting as it was, I shook my head. “I can’t ask Roan to live like that. It’s too much.”

“Aren’t you already asking him a lot by living with you now?”

I flicked ash out the window, considering his question for a moment. I was. I knew I was, but selfishly, I couldn’t let him go, either. “He asked me to stop. He wants me to quit what I do.”

Eduard snorted. “Yeah right.”

Taking a drag off the cigarette, I held it before exhaling, watching the smoke curl through the air like it could solve my problems for me.

His head whipped toward me at a red light. “Are you crazy? You can’t quit! Not unless you run and you just said you won’t.”

“I can’t do this forever, either. You said so yourself. I’m getting old.”

“You’re not even forty. Quit whining.”

“It’s not whining. It’s stating a fact. I fucked up my knee a couple weeks ago and it’s still not right. I feel it every time I fight. I’m slowing down, Eduard. There’s going to come a day when I’m too slow. And where will that leave Roan?”

“Roan? Your primary concern is what will happen to your little bunny if you lose a fight?”

“Not if. When.”

“You should be more concerned about what Sergei is going to do when he finds out. After everything that happened? I don’t think he’ll spare you a second time.”

“I know… And I don’t care about that, as long as he doesn’t go after Roan.”

Eduard sighed, running a hand through his dark hair before scratching the back of his head. “Sergei doesn’t gain anything by killing him. I’m sure Misha will sort him out if something happens to you.”

Rubbing my knee absentmindedly, I flicked ash away before muttering, “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Now you don’t trust Misha? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing. Something Valery said a while back.”

Did I trust Misha? I still didn’t have a good answer to that particular question. Until Valery asked it, I would have said “Yes,” without hesitation. In the wake of Daria’s murder? I couldn’t say the same thing.

The conversation came to a lull, which was fine by me. We smoked in silence the rest of the way until Eduard parked the van behind a rundown factory. Hopping out, we split in different directions: me to the back and Eduard to retrieve his own car from wherever he’d hidden it. I grabbed a can of petrol and doused the interior before tossing the can back inside.

I took one last drag from my cigarette and flicked it into a sizable puddle on the floor of the van and moved backward.

By the time I climbed into Eduard’s car, the van was burning steadily, thick black smoke rolling up into the atmosphere.

Speeding off once more, he turned and grinned at me as something inside the van combusted.

“See?” I smirked at him, shoving his shoulder. “I told you you missed getting your hands dirty.”

“Shut up,” he said with a laugh.

30

ROAN

IT ONLY TOOK one day for my father to return to his natural asshole ways. He spent a couple days in the hospital for fluids and observation to make sure there wasn’t any lasting internal damage from whatever it was Sasha did to him. I still didn’t know the extent of it and I didn’t care to ask. Mom tried to keep me updated about his “progress,” but I made a point of zoning out when she talked or ignoring her texts entirely.

I knew as soon as he was back home because my mother called in another panic I couldn’t exactly ignore.

“You need to come home. Right now,” she said, alternating between crying and trying to actually sound like a parent. Too bad she was about twenty years too late.

“Why?” I asked, pushing away from my laptop and rubbing my forehead.

“Your father wants to talk to you. He told me some very disturbing things, young man. You need to come home and settle this right now.”

“Oh, now he wants to talk to me? Maybe he should have tried that when I actually lived there.”

“I am not in the mood for your sarcasm. Now, I don’t want to think you and your…” She swallowed so hard I heard it through the phone. “Boyfriend… would do this. But why would your father lie?”

“Why would I lie about being kidnapped? Hmm?”

Instead of actually answering, she just sighed. I could picture her massaging her damn earlobes or whatever pressure point she could access.

After a minute of dramatic silence, she followed up with, “Are you coming over to sort this out, or not?”

“Not.” I hung up and turned my phone off. It may have been childish but I could not deal with her at the moment. Besides, the more I ignored them, the more pissed off Dad would get, which would hopefully lead to him making some sort of mistake.

When I finally turned my phone back on the next day, a barrage of messages came in — mostly from her, except for one from the asshole himself.

Dad: You think you can steal my money and get away with it? You have no idea the shit storm you’re in. I’ve told the police everything. You and that animal can share a cell at Stateville for all I care.

Me: Steal your money? What are you talking about? Is hallucinating one of the side effects of a concussion?

Dad: Don’t act like you don’t know about the ransom. This whole thing was your fucking get-rich-quick scheme. Instead of working for it, you decide to go for an easy handout.

Me: What ransom? You mean the ransom from when *I* was kidnapped? But, Dad, you said there wasn’t a ransom...

Dad: Is this all a game to you?

Me: I don’t even know what you’re talking about... so no. Did you take too many pain pills today? They can really fuck with your memory.

Dad: You’re dead to me. Do you understand? Dead.

I didn’t bother responding. After all, I was dead now and dead people didn’t talk. They didn’t text. They didn’t do anything. So neither did I.

The only positive out of that whole exchange was that I got a heads up the police would be in contact soon. And they were. A weary-sounding detective from Highland Park called to ask about my father’s allegations.

It didn’t take much to convince him what an asshole my father was and this was some attempt at payback, not only for Sasha battering him in the restaurant but also for the simpler fact I was gay and he didn’t approve. Honestly, I didn’t know if Dad had a problem with my sexuality or not, but the detective sounded sympathetic regardless. I’m sure he’d already gotten an earful from Dad so it was easy to paint a picture of what it was like growing up with him, trying to please a man who was never happy.

The detective thanked me for my time, apologized for the inconvenience, and hung up without any further ado. Case closed.

Afterward, Sasha found me on the couch, staring at nothing, my phone laying facedown on my chest.

“I don’t like that look,” he said, pushing my legs off the couch to make room for himself.

I tossed my phone at him, letting him see the exchange with my father for himself, while I crawled over to sit next to him.

He slid closer and pulled me against his side with one arm, flicking through the messages quickly. When he was done, he exhaled and tossed my phone onto the chair. “Do you have regrets?”

“No.” I traced his abs through his shirt, flipping through the catalogue of his tattoos in my head, challenging myself to remember where they were, what they meant — of the few he’d tell me anyway. They usually represented some form of death or criminal skill. After a while he got annoyed offering the same explanation over and over, so I quit asking.

“What’s the next step?”

“A little birdie is going to fly to the FBI and hand over some pretty incriminating evidence. Actual evidence, not the shit I fabricated to cover our asses during the kidnapping. I basically gift wrapped them a fucking case.”

“A bird?” He arched an eyebrow at me. “What bird?”

“Just a bird,” I repeated, laying my head against his chest again. I didn’t want to rat Bennett out considering how much of a fan Sasha was of the eccentric lawyer. He knew Bennett helped get the rumors started, but that was all I wanted to mention, for Sasha’s sake. My, how the times had changed. He used to not tell me things for fear of blowback and now I was the one shielding him from my nefarious deeds.

“And then what?” he asked.

“And then... we wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For the FBI to make their move. I can’t do anything else until they do their part.”

“How do you know they’ll do anything?”

“They have to. White-collar crimes are their responsibility. And he’s legit guilty. I mean, I always figured he was, but I found actual proof of it as soon as I got into his phone. I’m sure they’ll find a hell of a lot more once they start digging.”

“What about the money? You never told me what you did with it.”

I shrugged, tracing the outline of his muscles beneath his shirt. “He won’t be able to find it, that’s for sure. It’s already been moved from where Mom deposited it, so she can’t get to it either. It’ll sit in the new account for a while.”

He ran his fingers through the top of my hair. “Ok. So we wait. However long that is.”

“Yeah. I should probably go get ready.” As much as I didn’t want to get up, I stretched up and kissed him quickly before springing to my feet.

“You’re working today?” He almost sounded pouty, but by the time I looked at him, he only had a mildly annoyed expression.

“Yeah. Feodor called a last minute meeting to go over some things for his newest idea. Ilya’s picking me up in twenty.”

He nodded, pulling his phone out and answering a text. His brow furrowed as he glared at the screen and whatever new message came through.

Weird, but whatever.

I got ready and was headed for the door when Sasha pulled me to a stop, kissing me with a sudden sense of urgency. The kiss itself was hot, but the feeling that accompanied it was strange. Normally, he didn’t have so much concern when either one of us left. We weren’t the sort of couple who had to tell each other three things they loved about the other or kiss for a specific amount of time to make it “meaningful” — usually because we couldn’t, because of Sergei’s stupid rule.

“Are you ok?” I asked, tilting my head to the side and searching his face for the real answer instead of whatever came out of his mouth.

“Of course.” Yeah, I didn’t believe that for one second, but his expression didn’t give me any hints to the contrary.

“Ok… Well, I’ll text you when we’re headed back. Maybe we can go out to eat if you’re done training or whatever?”

“Sounds good.”

I had the distinct feeling he didn’t want me to leave, but I had to. Maybe that’s all it was. Normally he was the one going to work, leaving me behind. Except today, his schedule was pretty much wide open and I was suddenly unavailable.

Slipping out of his arms, I stepped through the door and pulled it closed behind me. I lingered in the hallway for a minute before finally making my way downstairs.

Ilya was waiting at the curb when I wandered into the parking garage.

“Such service,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I aim to please,” he replied with a laugh, pulling out of the structure and turning toward the Adler. “I’m surprised you called me, actually. I figured you’d have Sasha take you.”

“He has Fight Club today.”

“Fight Club?”

I laughed and spread my hands helplessly. “I don’t know what they call it. It’s where all of Misha’s guys get together and beat the shit out of each other in the basement.”

Ilya laughed and nodded. “It’s just sparring, but I see what you mean. Have you ever seen them fight? Misha and Sasha?”

I shook my head. “No. Only Sasha.”

He gave a low, appreciative whistle. “It’s intense, man. Like two junkyard dogs going at it. No one wants to get in the middle of that.”

“Who wins?” Not that I doubted Sasha or his abilities, having seen them up close and personal, but Misha had military training on top of whatever he picked up in the criminal world. If Ilya’s training was anything close to what his uncle was capable of, Misha was undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with.

Ilya laughed again. “I don’t know if anyone wins, to be honest. More like, who walks away less bloody. And that entirely depends on the day.”

We parked in the city lot down the block and walked to the Adler, letting ourselves in the side door.

“I don’t know how long this is going to take,” I said to Ilya, stopping short when I saw Samuel. “Hey man.”

Samuel was on his way to the stage and jerked to a halt as soon as he spotted me. His eyes nearly tripled in size before he scurried off, disappearing behind the set without a word of any kind. The guy texted me almost nonstop for months until all of a sudden it stopped, without explanation.

Today was the first time I’d seen him since the night of the show and it was definitely not the reaction I was expecting. I mean, I figured it might be a little awkward once he found out about Sasha, but I didn’t think he’d be that weird about the whole thing. It’s not like I led him on or anything. In fact, I’d been miserable for most of the time we talked, so I was fairly certain I wasn’t sending out any flirty vibes.

“What was that all about?” Ilya asked, sounding as confused as I was.

“I have no idea.”

He shrugged and shot me a grin. “I’m going to go see if Polina is in today.”

“Just ask her out already.”

“What? No. It’s not like that. I just—”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll text you when it’s wrapping up.”

Ilya stared at me for a minute, like he was waiting for me to say something else. Then he spun on his heel and hurried up the side aisle of the auditorium at a record pace. Yeah, not flirting my ass.

Laughing, I joined the rest of the directors on stage, taking my place in the circle on the worn wooden floor next to Samuel. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He didn’t look up and I swore he actually scooted away from me.

A frown crept across my face as I studied him, trying to figure out what his deal was. “You ok?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure? You seem, I don’t know, jumpy. Or something.”

“I’m good. Really.” His dark gaze lifted, meeting mine for half a heartbeat before he looked away again.

Whatever. Even if I could smell the bullshit from a mile away, I wasn’t going to push it. I didn’t want to believe his strange behavior was because I turned him down, but I had no idea what else would have him acting so… different. I was taken. So what? Did that mean our friendship had all been a ruse just to get into my pants?

I was still brooding over that very possibility when a popping noise rang out behind me.

Feodor shushed us all, bringing the meeting to a standstill. We looked at one another, no one daring to ask the question we were all thinking. Were those gunshots?

The popping turned to bangs. Most definitely gunshots. And they were getting closer. How many gunmen were out there? More than one from the sounds of it. Three? Four? I had no idea.

“Everyone, hide,” Feodor said, hurrying to push himself to his feet with his cane and dig his phone out of his pocket at the same time. I grabbed his elbow and hauled him upward, helping stabilize him while he jabbed at numbers on his phone. “Go,” he said, shoving me toward the rear of the stage.

People in the lobby screamed, followed by more shots.

For some reason, the screaming more than Feodor’s command, is what got people moving. We scattered to the four winds right as the doors to the auditorium burst open.

Bullets sprayed the stage wildly, in a random sweeping pattern instead of calculated shots. It reminded me of a school shooting rather than a targeted murder. A second wave of gunmen came in, picking off people one by one after the initial assault.

When the first bullet whizzed by, I ducked and launched myself behind the thick velvet curtain. Pressing myself up against one of the lighting pillars, I scrambled to pull my phone out.

There was already a text from Ilya I’d missed with my phone on vibrate.

HIDE

I texted him back, asking where he was. Not that I expected him to answer me in the middle of a gunfight, but I was at least hoping to see the little dots to indicate he was even alive, or the timestamp showing he’d read the message.

Nothing.

Heavy footsteps clomped down the aisle.

I angled myself behind the pillar, peering out through a slice between the curtains. There were six of them, fanned out through the auditorium, methodically checking the rows. They were dressed like they were ready for battle, in an array of black with a variety of guns between them. This wasn’t some random shooting. This was planned. The question was, who were they after?

They shot in another high, sweeping arc and then a second, lower one. Someone shrieked and collapsed somewhere in the darkness behind the stage. The gunmen talked to one another in what sounded like Russian and split up into two-man teams, approaching the stage from different angles, including the orchestra pit.

In a matter of moments, one of them would come around the curtain, which meant I couldn’t fucking stay here. Dialing Sasha’s number, I tucked the phone back into my pocket and hurried along backstage as quietly as I could, praying I didn’t fucking trip over cords or props.

My original thought to hide in the tunnel connecting the orchestra pit to backstage was no longer an option. I didn’t have time to climb up into the catwalk, nor did I want to be a target up there, anyway.

Sprinting down the back hallway, I ducked into the first open door I came to — the costume workshop.

I scanned the area quickly before darting toward the huge wardrobe pushed against the center wall.

Instead of climbing into the wardrobe, I wheeled a rack of costumes closer and hid along the side of it, thanking God for the giant, poofy costumes left over from one of the Shakespearean productions. At least this way I could keep an eye on the door and run if I had to instead of being trapped in a giant wooden box, waiting to be shot like a fish in a barrel.

Slipping my phone out, I was relieved to see the line was still open. I pressed it to my ear and whispered Sasha’s name.

“Roan?! Don’t talk. We’re on our way.”

“How long?”

“Stop fucking talking!” He snapped at someone in Russian. A series of guns cocked and magazines slammed into place, followed by an equally snarly response from whoever was driving. An engine gunned in the background. “Five minutes. No more fucking talking!”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. I was going to listen this time, so help me God. Just knowing Sasha was on his way kept me from freaking the fuck out. He’d get here in time. I knew he would. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen. Not again.

Closing my eyes, I tried to block out memories of the alley, the bank robbery, all of it. Inevitably, my brain couldn’t help but compare those situations to my current one, trying to find similarities or patterns to make sense out of.

Who the hell would want to shoot up a theater? A closed theater, at that. I had no idea. They seemed organized, almost military-style, which led me to believe this wasn’t some random gang. They spoke Russian, which did absolutely nothing to narrow down the list of potential enemies. And I still had no idea who their target would be. Feodor? I guess he had money. Sergei definitely had money and I’m sure would pay anything to get his family back.

Each minute that ticked by seemed to last an hour.

Another barrage of gunfire sounded somewhere in the theater, except now it sounded like shots were flying back and forth instead of being one-sided. Hope sprang inside my chest. Maybe Sasha was here. Otherwise, who the fuck was shooting back?

I should have called the police. Any normal person would have. But somehow I also knew involving the police in whatever this was wouldn’t be good for anyone — Sasha, Feodor, and especially Sergei. Besides, Feodor had his phone out too. Did he call the cops? Or did he call Sergei?

Heavy footfalls clomped down the hallway outside the workshop. I held my breath, waiting to see who came into view. When I saw an arm full of Russian tattoos, I almost stood up, until I saw the man’s face.

It wasn’t Sasha.

It was two of the gunmen, circling the room and checking under sewing tables. I could only see their legs as they stopped and turned in my direction, murmuring to one another.

Suddenly their boots were on the move. One of them stood back while the other surged forward and yanked the wardrobe door open.

I pressed myself against the wall as hard as I could, hoping they didn’t look down.

A series of shots rang out.

One of the men fell, blood and chunks of hair splattering across the tile.

Between the smell of blood and gunpowder and my own fucking nerves, my stomach lurched. I covered my mouth and tried not to make a sound when all I wanted to do was retch.

The second gunman ducked behind a counter, exchanging shots with whoever was shooting from the hallway. When his opponent paused, he lunged to the side and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. He pulled the trigger again and once again it clicked.

A moment later, a figure launched themselves across the room and tackled the shooter. They wrestled on the other side of the table, over what I couldn’t see. Probably a gun. From the flash of dark hair and tattoos I spied between the costumes, I hoped it was Sasha.

A slicing sound was followed by a wet gurgle. The gunman stopped moving, except for the occasional twitch of his foot. His attacker stood slowly, wiping his bloody knife on his pant leg. When he turned, a surge of disappointment shot through me.

It still wasn’t Sasha.

It was Valery.

Someone barked something from the hallway in Russian and he answered, kicking the dead man’s boot.

But I knew that bark. I’d never loved that bark more in my entire life. Fuck Rule #2.

Shoving the costume rack to the side, I sprang to my feet. I suppose I should have been concerned Valery might shoot me, but it was honestly the last thing on my mind. My vision narrowed down to one thing and one thing only — Sasha.

Valery shouted something as I burst out of my hiding spot and sprinted toward the door.

Sasha was in the hallway, blood dripping down his right arm. His gun was in his left hand and it was equally bloody, like he’d bashed it against someone’s head. Repeatedly. I didn’t care. I launched myself at him and wrapped my arms around his neck. I would have climbed him like a fucking monkey if he wasn’t already injured.

He hugged me with his left arm, bloody gun and all, and exhaled. “Thank God.”

“What happened?” I pushed away so I could look at his right arm. The answer was obvious up close — he’d been shot. Blood oozed out of the front and back of his arm, leaving red streaks down his skin.

“It’s nothing.” He wrapped his left arm around my neck and pulled me against him, nuzzling the side of my neck. “I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

Valery said something behind us, but I couldn’t make out what it was. All I heard was ‘Sergei.’

Sasha picked his head up and snapped back in Russian, his arm tightening and pulling me even closer, if it was possible. I couldn’t see what sort of staring contest the two were having, but after a minute of it Valery stomped off in the other direction, leaving us alone.

“Who are these people?” I asked quietly. “What did they want?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he replied, resting his forehead against mine. “They’re all dead.”

“That didn’t answer the question.”

“We’ll talk about it later. Let’s get out of here.”

“Did you find Ilya?” When he didn’t answer, I pulled back and frowned up at him.

He shook his head, leaving me with a cold feeling of dread. Did that mean he didn’t? Or did that mean he did, and Ilya was dead?

After he swapped the magazines in his gun, we made our way back toward the stage. Valery and a couple other guys I’d never seen before were there, dragging bodies into a pile. Bad guys and good guys alike.

Kelly, Feodor’s PA.

Michael, the head of set construction.

And Samuel.

They were all dead.

“Oh my God…” My legs turned to lead and all I could do was stare.

Sasha kept me moving, his arm tightening around my neck. I clung to his waist, twisting my fingers into the fabric of his shirt to keep from collapsing.

I’d just been with those people. Minutes ago. I’d been right next to Samuel. He’d been hit half a dozen times. At least. If he’d sat closer, maybe one of those bullets would have hit me. Maybe I’d be dead instead of him. Maybe we’d both be dead.

“Don’t look back,” Sasha said as we made our way up the aisle.

A sudden burst of sunlight hit me when we entered the lobby. I blinked against it, shielding my eyes with one hand while trying to process the new horror in front of me.

There was a dead body sprawled in the center of the lobby, one of the gunmen apparently. One of the janitors was slumped over at the base of the stairs with a slew of bullets in his back.

Misha’s head snapped toward us. A visible look of relief washed over him. “The rest?”

“Dead,” Sasha replied flatly. “Ilya?”

Misha tipped his chin toward the front office. Polina’s office.

Creeping forward, I peered inside. There was a man kneeling next to Ilya, his hands bloody and moving quickly. Ilya’s shirt was ripped open, his torso riddled with bullet holes. Blood spilled all around him.

Somehow, remarkably, he was alive, gasping and groaning. Behind him, Polina lay face down in a pool of her own blood.

As soon as he saw us, Ilya grimaced, a rush of tears leaking from the corner of his eye. “Sasha. I’m—”

“Don’t talk,” Misha snapped.

Ilya continued anyway, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Listen to your uncle,” Sasha said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

The man working on him dug into the kit at his side and stuffed wads of cotton into one of the wounds. “He needs a hospital,” he said over his shoulder, obviously directing the statement at Misha. “Now.”

Misha nodded and started texting.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya repeated, closing his eyes.

I slipped away from Sasha and eased into the office. Edging around the blood, I knelt next to Ilya’s head, smoothing his hair back. “Stop apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I failed.”

“Shh. You didn’t fail. I’m fine.” I grabbed his hand, surprised when he squeezed the hell out of it despite the trembling.

“I should have been with you.”

Misha growled something in Russian. Sasha replied, earning him a glare. Whatever the reason was, Sasha didn’t take kindly to it. He strode forward and seized Misha’s bicep, yanking him several steps away to continue their heated conversation in whispers.

I kept my focus on Ilya until two guys showed up and shooed me out of the way so they could put him on a stretcher. I thought I’d see them wheel him out to an ambulance, but no. He went into the back of a black Mercedes van and disappeared down the road, no flashing lights, no sirens. I didn’t know where the hell they were taking him, but my thoughts went with him.

Misha didn’t stick around. After a final snarl at Sasha, he stormed out the front doors.

“You can’t kill him,” I said as soon as Misha was gone.

Sasha turned to me with a blink. “What?”

“Ilya. You can’t kill him,” I reiterated, clenching my hands into fists — hands that were still coated in Ilya’s blood. “I’m not hurt. I’m certainly not dead. Those were your rules, so technically he didn’t fail. You can’t kill him.”

“I’m not going to kill him.” He reached out with his left hand and cupped my cheek. “Let’s get out of here before another crew comes.”

“What do you mean ‘another’?”

“I’ll tell you at home.”

31

SASHA

“YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?” Roan blanched.

“I can’t reach,” I said, holding the needle and thread out to him.

He bit his lips and shook his head, looking like he was a second away from vomiting.

“Ok.” Setting the needle down, I stood and crossed over to the utensil drawer. I pulled out a butcher knife and turned the gas burner on, setting the knife on the flame. It wasn’t the ideal way to patch myself up, but I wasn’t going to make him do something he didn’t want to do.

“What are you doing now?” Roan asked, wide eyes watching me like a hawk.

“I have to close it somehow,” I replied, flipping the knife to heat the other side.

“Oh my God. Stop. I’ll do it.” He darted toward the stove and turned the burner off before shoving me back toward the kitchen island.

I settled on the stool again and propped my arm on the island, trying to make it as easy as possible for him.

He picked up the needle and thread and walked behind me, exhaling a slow, shaky breath.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

“Yeah. Ok. Got it.” His fingertips grazed my tricep and pinched the skin gently.

I waited for the sting of the needle, the tugging of the thread.

Nothing.

“I literally have no idea what I’m doing,” he said. “What if I fuck it up? Then your arm is going to get infected and you’ll fucking kill me.”

“You just watched me do the front. Do that. You’ll be fine.”

He expelled a short breath and touched my arm again. I could almost feel his cringe when he pushed the needle through my skin.

I tried to glance over my shoulder, but he pushed my face back the other way. “Don’t look. I’m nervous enough.”

“What are you nervous for? It’s not like you got shot.”

I meant it as a joke, but a second later Roan flung himself on my back, wrapping his arms around me and burying his face into my shoulder blade.

“Hey.” I squeezed his forearm gently. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. I promise. It’s not the first time I’ve been shot and I’m sure it won’t be the last time.”

“It’s not nothing, Sasha! You were fucking shot! I don’t care how many times it’s happened before. What if you’d been killed?”

“But I wasn’t.”

“You could have been!”

I sighed. There was no point in arguing. Not while I was still dripping blood on the floor, anyway.

“What the fuck is going on?” Roan asked, sliding around to the front of me, his blue eyes damp. “Who’s pissed off this time?”

“You remember the dead woman from the party?”

“Yeah…?”

“It’s her father, Kazimir.”

He cocked his head, his blond brows furrowing, trying to slot the fucked-up pieces together. “Isn’t that the guy you worked for? When you were a kid?”

I nodded. “One in the same.”

“Why would he sent a hit squad to the Adler?”

“That part we’re not sure about. Either because you were there. Or Ilya. Or Feodor. Kazimir has a reason to hate the three of us — Misha, Sergei, and I — and as you said, you are my weakness.”

“But how would he know that? About us, I mean?”

“Because of what I did... to Yuri.” I dropped my gaze to his hands. “Kazimir is his father. Daria was his sister.”

“Oh shit...”

My attention snapped up to him, eyes narrowing. “He’s not going to hurt you, Roan. Now that we know he’s here, Misha and I will not sleep until he’s fucking dead.”

“What about Ilya?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s in surgery now. Misha has men with him. No one is getting close to him.”

Roan nodded, chewing on his lower lip. He slipped behind me again and resumed stitching in silence.

AS SOON AS Ilya was stable, Misha called, demanding a meeting.

I kissed Roan goodbye and drove to Delirium, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of Kazimir or another ambush along the way.

When I reached the club without incident, I headed upstairs to the private room where the rest of Misha’s men were gathered.

“You work every contact you have,” Misha shouted, glaring at each man in turn. He was still in the same suit as earlier, his nephew’s blood staining the front of his shirt and where he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. Even his perfect blond hair was disheveled, strands falling across his forehead. “Whoever brings me his head will be given whatever they want as a reward. Money, property, I don’t give a fuck. I want him dead! And I want him dead now! Him and anyone who fucking helped him!”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the wall, watching Misha bark out orders like a general. I’d never seen him so angry before. Then again, I’d never seen anyone he cared about nearly die. I could empathize with that.

Empathize? Jesus Christ. Roan was rubbing off on me…

“Now get out!” Misha yelled, flinging his hands toward the door. “Everyone! Go find them! Except you, Sasha. Stay.”

After everyone filtered out, he gestured for me to come closer but then turned and paced in the opposite direction, covering his mouth with one hand.

“How’s Ilya?” I asked, watching him prowl around with a growing sense of uneasiness.

He nodded, swallowing hard as he turned to face me. “He’ll make it.”

I nodded as well, waiting for the next bomb to drop.

“How’s Roan?”

Shrugging, I hooked my thumbs in my pockets. It wasn’t a strange question, given what they’d gone through, but it felt like idle chit chat when there were more important things we could be doing. “Normal. I guess.”

“Good. Good.” He walked away from me again, his hands on his hips while he expelled a calming breath. “There’s something you need to know.”

I didn’t like the way he said that. Or the fact he put distance between us in order to tell me.

“Sasha...” Misha turned, facing me with a wary expression. “It’s about Daria.”

“What about her?” I knew it. I fucking knew it. It always came back to that bitch.

“She’s alive.”

“What?” I still had some tinnitus in my right ear from all the shooting earlier. That had to be the explanation for mishearing him.

Misha closed his eyes and nodded, repeating it, only louder so there was absolutely no doubt what he said. “She’s alive, Sasha.”

As soon as I regained my senses, my blood fucking boiled. She was alive. This whole fucking time? Roan had almost been killed to avenge a murder that never fucking happened?!

I backhanded a bottle off the dry bar, getting zero satisfaction when it shattered. “I told you, I’m not playing games anymore, Misha! What the fuck is going on?!”

He sat hastily and gestured to the chair across from him.

To keep from lashing out again, namely at him, I forced myself to sit, hands clenched in my lap.

“Everything I told you after the party was true,” Misha said calmly. “She did come to Sergei for help. Kazimir was getting released from prison and she feared for her life. She wanted out.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s the one who gave evidence against him, evidence that put him in prison in the first place.”

“Why would she do something so fucking stupid?”

“For you,” he answered with a sigh. “She told me she was trying to make amends for what her family did, how they betrayed you. It helped put Kazimir away, but it wasn’t enough to free you.”

My body went numb with every new detail that emerged. No shit it wasn’t enough to free me. I rotted there for five fucking years because of her — because of them. And now she was back to say she was sorry?!

I barely recognized my own voice when I spoke. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because that is the real reason Kazimir is here. To track down Daria, either to kill her or take her home. I don’t know. I don’t care. He made it clear he intends to take the rest of us out unless we give her up. He knows Sergei is the only one with the resources to help her.”

It also explained why Kazimir had been hiding in America for weeks already without making a move. It was one thing to strike against one person — it was another to strike against three. The meeting at the Adler was the perfect opportunity to hurt all three of us in one fell swoop. He always did have a knack for the long game.

“So if she’s not really dead, then who the hell did the police carry out of the house that night?”

Misha spread his hands. “I don’t know. One of Lada’s girls. It was enough to convince the police, but not enough to convince Kazimir.”

“How is that even possible? There’s video footage from that night. Did you know that?”

“Nothing is impossible, Sasha.” He gave me a little smirk. “Cameras are one of the easiest things to fool. A little interference, a brief pause in the feed, it’s all the time you need to swap one woman for another.”

“Is that why Sergei had me kill Lada?” I asked, my hands clenching all over again.

His mouth twisted into a grimace and I had my answer.

“Goddamn it, Misha!” I got to my feet and strode away from him before I did something we’d both regret. “Did you know she was pregnant before you sent me there?!”

“It was either you or Kazimir,” he said quietly. “He wouldn’t have cared that she carried Yuri’s bastard. He would have used her for information — information we couldn’t let him have.”

“She knew Daria was alive.”

He nodded. “She saw her, of course. We had to match up one of the girls. And then Lada dropped the girl off at Daria’s hotel room the night of the masquerade.”

“Goddamn it!” If my right bicep didn’t have a fucking hole through it, I would have punched the wall or upended a table or something.

“I know…”

“You don’t know shit!” I snapped, whirling on him again. “Why is Sergei risking so much for her?”

“She traded some very important information for her life. Now that Sergei has it, he can remove Kazimir once and for all. After Viktor’s betrayal, he hasn’t trusted any of the Belovs.”

“So Roan, Ilya, Feodor — they almost died because her fucking life is worth more to your boss?”

He matched my glare with one of his own. “I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

I shook my head, putting distance between us again to be on the safe side. “You could have told me.”

“Would it have mattered?” Misha asked with a sigh.

The weariness in his voice made my teeth snap together before I spouted off with a vicious comeback. Even if he had a point, it still pissed me off that he’d lied to me — that Roan was in danger for no goddamn reason other than Sergei’s never-ending greed. But Misha was in the same position. He nearly lost Ilya, all because of Daria.

I may have passed up the opportunity to kill her once. I wouldn’t fucking do it again.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I tried to return to some sort of objectiveness. After all, I had a job to do. “So now what?”

Misha looked up, his blue eyes darkening. “We find Kazimir and rip his fucking head off.”

32

ROAN

IN BETWEEN THE massive Russian manhunt for Kazimir and dodging questions from Chicago PD about how Ilya ended up with four bullet holes in his torso, the feds decided it was the perfect time to make their move.

Out of the blue, Mom called me in the worst panic to date. “The FBI is here! Roan, you have to get over here. Now!”

Dad must have snatched the phone because the next thing I knew, he shouted into it so loud I could almost feel the spittle flying at me. “You son of a bitch! I will fucking crush you. Do you hear me? You and your fucking goon. As soon as my lawyers are done with this, they’re coming after you! I don’t care who you are!”

“For what?” I asked, making sure to keep my tone light in case this shit was being recorded. “I’m not the one who’s guilty of high-yield investment fraud or front running.”

“Sir, we need that phone,” another male said in the background.

“Guess that minor in business worked out for me after all, huh Dad?” From the volume and sheer amount of swearing, I was pretty sure he heard me.

“No! That’s a Baccarat!” my mother shrieked in the background right before the line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a minute, trying to envision what kind of chaos was going on in Highland Park.

When I finally looked up, Sasha was watching me with raised brows.

“Want to go to my parents?” I asked with a wry grin. “Mommy Dearest is on the verge of a breakdown.”

“No,” he replied gruffly, climbing out of bed with a resigned sigh. I watched him march off to the shower, naked, and bit my lip to stifle an appreciative noise. “Roan!”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” I kicked off the covers and scurried after him.

An hour later, we were standing in my parents’ foyer, surveying the damage. The house had clearly been gone through, drawers left half open and random papers scattered across the floor. A copy of the search warrant lay on the coffee table in the living room, detailing everything the feds were after, which was a lot.

My mother sat on the couch, clutching a red, bumpy vase that cost more than Sasha’s rent. She didn’t even seem to be aware of our presence until I sat on the couch next to her and tried to pry the fucking vase away.

“Mom. You can put the vase down. They’re gone.”

“Roan!” She let go so quick I almost fell backward. If Sasha hadn’t been standing right next to me, I probably would have. “Thank God you’re here! Look what they’ve done!”

She flung her arms around me and started sobbing, dripping fat crocodile tears onto my shoulder. Well, maybe they were real. After all, she was watching her life crumble before her very eyes. Her public image was already shattered and now her personal space was equally destroyed.

“Mom, what happened?” I asked, shooting a glance at Sasha.

Sasha rolled his eyes and walked away with the vase, setting it on the mantel with none of the gentleness my mother would have appreciated if she was paying attention.

“Your father’s been arrested!” She pushed away from me and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “First he was kidnapped by those terrible people. I gave them everything we had to get him back and now this!”

I stole a glance at Sasha, who’d turned at the mention of kidnapping, arching a brow at her.

“Please tell me he still doesn’t think we had anything to do with that…” I pushed her backward gently, putting on my most concerned expression and looking over at Sasha sadly.

She sniffed and wiped her nose before answering. “I think he’s projecting. Between the bank robbery and what you went through. Then the… disagreement” — her eyes flicked to Sasha — “at the restaurant. I think he’s under a lot of stress and he didn’t know what he was saying in that hospital. He even spoke with the police but they said there’s nothing worth pursuing, whatever that means!”

Sasha’s hand, which had previously been resting on the mantel, moved a fraction of an inch closer to the vase. If she kept talking, I had a feeling he was going to swat it off the ledge like a cat. Time to redirect the conversation before I was picking up six-thousand-dollar shards off the floor.

I patted her hand, faking my empathetic nod. “So why was he arrested? Did they say?”

“Oh, God, honey. I don’t remember!” She tsked me and touched her forehead before waving her hand in little circles, like it would help dredge up the memory. “Fraud! All sorts of fraud. Wires and security. And tax evasion! Who do they think he is? Al Capone?” I mean… that was where I got some of my ideas from, so it wasn’t a stretch.

She looked up again, grabbing my hand so hard it actually hurt. “Oh my God! They took everything! I don’t have my phone, my computer. They told us our bank accounts are frozen.” An exasperated laugh spilled out of her, followed immediately by more tears. “There was hardly anything left in the accounts. I had to give it all to the kidnappers! Oh, your father was so angry, Roan… He told me I should have never given them that money and he was right. Look at us now. We have nothing!”

I disentangled my hand from hers, putting it back on her own lap with another little pat. “I know this is a really bad time right now… but have you called Milton?”

“What? No! Why?” Her eyes widened and she leaned forward, latching onto my forearm.

Feigning a grimace, I looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Tell me!” She squeezed my arm, on the verge of tears again.

Returning my gaze to hers, I let my shoulders slump, trying to make myself look as small and sad as possible. “I don’t know, Mom. I think you should cover all of your bases. You don’t want to go down with him. Remember what happened to Beth when her husband was busted for insider trading?”

“What?!” Her jaw fell open as she breathed out the word. “Why would — but I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re married, so all of your assets are marital assets, Mom. If he’s found guilty, like John was, you’ll lose everything. Where is Beth now?” I blinked solemnly, practically wincing when I said the answer. “Indiana…”

She put a hand at the base of her throat, her chest heaving. No doubt, her way of life was diminishing before her eyes, receding into the corn like poor, penniless Beth. In reality, I had no idea where the fuck the former Mrs. Randolph was, but clearly neither did my mother.

“But,” I said, glancing away again. “No, never mind. You should talk to Milton.”

Sasha narrowed his eyes at me from across the room. He looked amused and borderline concerned, much like the night he demanded to know the entirety of the plan. I didn’t dare smile at him, even though every part of me wanted to. Someone should put me in for a fucking Oscar after this performance.

“But?” Mom looked up quickly.

“If you file for divorce, you can at least protect what’s yours.”

“How?”

“The prenup,” I replied simply. “It guarantees you the money you brought to the marriage. So you at least have whatever Grandpa set up in your name. Plus, it will distance you from Dad’s criminal case in the eyes of the authorities and public opinion.”

“I’d have nothing.”

“No, Mom, you’d have Grandpa’s trust. And I’m sure all of your friends would help you get back on your feet after such a… huge betrayal by Dad.”

She leaned back, staring at the coffee table again with a vacant expression. I’m sure it was a lot for her to process. The only decisions she had to make in her day-to-day life was where to shop or which elaborate vacation she wanted to take by herself. Anything related to the house, or finances, or, you know, me, were left to my father. With him gone, it all fell on her delicate little shoulders.

After she mulled it over for what seemed like an eternity, she looked up, resolve written across her face. “Can you call Milton for me?”

A smile started to pull at my mouth until I forced it into a frown, slipping my phone out of my pocket. “Of course, Mom. And don’t worry. I’ll help you through this however I can.”

Across the room, Sasha snorted and disappeared from sight.

HOURS LATER, Sasha and I finally slipped out of my mother’s house with promises to check in later. Mom and Milton, the trusty family attorney, bade us goodbye and returned to their task — going over legal documents and preparing all of the paperwork that would be needed for her pending divorce. Even Milton agreed she needed to act quickly to preserve her “interests,” namely his outrageous fees.

“I am simultaneously impressed and a little bit scared of you right now,” Sasha said as we pulled out of the driveway and headed for home. “I didn’t realize you could lie so well.”

I reached over and squeezed his thigh. “I think I’m flattered…?”

“You should be. Not much scares me.” He leaned over and kissed me quickly while the stoplight cycled.

“Wish I could say the same,” I muttered, letting my head fall back against the headrest.

He shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. “You’re worried about Kazimir?”

“Yeah… among a thousand other things.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say.”

“It is. It’ll be finished tomorrow.” The light turned green again and his attention drifted back to the road.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up with the certainty in his voice. “How do you know that?”

“Because I got a message to Kazimir earlier, when you were dealing with your mother.”

“And…?” This wasn’t good. Not good at all. This meant Sasha was planning to do something stupid. Or dangerous. Or dangerously stupid.

“I told him to meet me tomorrow.” Sasha’s head swiveled toward me, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “And I’ll give him what he wants.”

Stupid! So, so stupid Sasha!

I swallowed my anxiety and tried to keep my voice neutral. “Aren’t you what he wants?”

“I’ll give him something better.” His chin tipped up in natural defiance as he answered. “His daughter.”

33

SASHA

ROAN WAS NOT happy when he learned the whole sordid story about Daria. If he could have, I was pretty sure he’d hand her over to Kazimir himself for what she’d done to me. It didn’t matter it was a decade ago. He was furious. I couldn’t say I blamed him. I was too. Not to mention the fact workmen were still plastering over bullet holes in the Adler because of that bitch.

But as much as I hated her, as much as I didn’t trust her, I finally had an answer to the question Valery posed so long ago — I did trust Misha. I trusted his anger. His bloodlust. Just like he trusted mine.

So when he made me promise not to kill Daria, I agreed. Grudgingly.

It was a promise I immediately regretted, sitting across from her in an empty barroom on the North Side of the city. She drummed her perfectly manicured nails on the top of her crossed knee, her head held high.

“See? I was telling the truth,” she sniffed, probably put out that I didn’t fall at her fucking feet with gratitude.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I snapped back. “I promised not to kill you. I can still break your fucking jaw.”

Misha halted his pacing long enough to send me a warning look.

“You know, it would be easier if the rest of the crew was here,” I said, tracking Misha as he circled the perimeter of the main sitting area.

“No one can know she’s alive,” Misha replied, chewing on his index finger as he moved, keeping an eye on the Guinness clock above the bar.

“Do you really think he’s just going to walk in here?” Daria asked, turning her attention to Misha since she didn’t get anywhere with me. “He’s evil. He’s not stupid.”

“Hence the neutral territory,” Misha replied loftily. He exchanged a nod with Declan, who raised a glass of whiskey toward him in return before slamming it.

Daria rolled her eyes. “So what’s the plan? Sit around and get drunk while you wait to have your skulls crushed?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Misha replied sharply. Any normal person would have stopped talking after getting glared at by someone like Misha, but she kept running her mouth like the spoiled princess she was.

“Excuse me if I’d like to know what is going to happen, since it’s my life that is on the line.”

“Worried we’re going to fuck you over?” I asked, leaning forward. “Want me to tell you how it feels?”

“Old habits, Sasha,” she said with a sneer of a smile. “And considering the fact you said you’d kill me the next time you saw me, I’d say I have a right to be concerned.”

“Can I get you boys something while we wait?” Declan asked, pouring another shot of whiskey and sliding it down the bar. Sean caught it and tossed it back with a grimace.

“Vodka,” Misha and I answered at the same time.

Declan laughed. “That’s the spirit.” He poured two glasses and set them out for us before turning his attention to Daria. “And what about you, honey?”

She gave Declan a sweeping glance, sniffed, and turned away.

“Ain’t she a peach,” Declan remarked as I stepped up to the bar and swiped my glass.

“You have no idea,” I muttered, swallowing the drink in one go.

Two glasses later, the bells above the front door finally chimed.

Misha and I each grabbed Daria by an arm and yanked her to her feet, keeping ahold of her. She hissed her displeasure, but stopped whining the minute a troupe of men filed in the door. They spread out, surveying the interior, as unimpressed as Daria had been an hour ago.

Finally, their boss stepped through, peeling off his thin leather gloves slowly.

Kazimir’s nose wrinkled as he walked inside, smacking the gloves against the palm of his hand. Compared to the shithole prison he just crawled out of, this place was a goddamn palace. But apparently some things never changed and he was still an arrogant asshole, much like the rest of his fucking family.

A group of Irishmen appeared from various angles in the bar, making a beeline for the opposing Russians.

“Sorry boys,” Declan said, launching himself over the bar and striding forward with his hands spread. “No weapons allowed. Chicago has a very strict anti-gun policy. And as the mediator of this little exchange, what I say goes.”

Kazimir regarded Declan before glancing around at the rest of the North Siders. Once he nodded, the Irishmen stripped Kazimir’s men of their guns. They carried them back to the bar and laid them out.

Declan followed Kazimir’s dark gaze to where we stood and he chuckled, arms crossing while he rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, they got the same treatment. Don’t worry. Fair’s fair.” He pointed to our guns, which had been piled on a table off to the side.

Once everyone was relieved of their weapons, Declan circled a finger in the air, rounding up his men and moving off to the side to give us the floor, so to speak.

“Kazimir,” Misha acknowledged with a hateful smile.

“Mikhail. How’s your nephew? Still alive, I’m assuming, since I didn’t find an obituary this morning.”

“Unlike your spineless family, we’re from much hardier stock.”

Kazimir’s gaze rolled and flicked to me. “Aleksandr. How is—”

“Don’t even think his fucking name,” I growled. Grabbing Daria by the back of the neck, I yanked her closer, squeezing hard enough to make her yelp. “Or I’ll snap her neck right in front of you.”

His attention dropped to his daughter, but he didn’t say a word. He stared at her with a burning hatred, the muscles beneath his eye twitching. As much as her betrayal hurt him, he didn’t want to see her killed. At least, not by me. He probably wanted to do it himself, like his best friend Dimitri. Or imprison her for the rest of her life. Either way, I didn’t give a fuck as long as I walked out of here knowing they’d leave Roan and I alone.

“The terms are clear, are they not?” Misha asked.

Kazimir nodded, however reluctantly. “I’ll take my wayward daughter and the files she stole and never return to this godforsaken country. Sergei and I part ways as friends. For good.”

“And if I see you again, I’ll take your fucking head off,” Misha said. When Kazimir nodded his curt agreement, Misha tossed a jump drive across the bar and then shoved Daria forward.

She turned to him with tears in her eyes, rubbing her arm from where he’d been holding her. His fingerprints still marred her skin. “You promised to help me! How can you do this?”

“I did help you,” Misha shot back, as cold as ice. “In return, it nearly cost me something dear.”

Her weepy gaze turned to me next. “Sasha? Please. I did care for you.”

I kept my gaze on her father, not out of any sense of guilt, but because I knew ignoring her would hurt more than telling her to fuck off.

“Stop begging, Daria. It’s beneath you,” Kazimir said, closing the distance on her quickly. “Our plane is waiting.” He snatched her by the arm and started dragging her toward the door.

Declan swaggered forward with an exaggerated wince, sucking his teeth. “About that…”

Kazimir and his men stopped abruptly, all turning to size up the Irishman.

“‘Fraid you’re going to miss that flight.” Declan spread his hands apologetically.

Before Kazimir could so much as blink, Declan’s men rushed forward, throwing themselves at the Russians across the way. Brass knuckles and short, glossy black sticks flew, raining down blow after blow on the unarmed men. The hired Russians fought back, but they were no match against double the numbers and a variety of bludgeoning weapons. One by one they fell, their skulls caved in or their faces pulverized beyond recognition. Sometimes both.

In the melee, Kazimir made a break for the backdoor, abandoning Daria in the middle of the bar.

Misha darted toward Daria. I sprang after Kazimir, giving chase down the back hallway.

When he slowed to take a corner, I crashed into him from behind, slamming him into the exposed brick wall. He threw his elbow backward, driving it into my right bicep above the sliver of gauze visible beneath the sleeve of my t-shirt.

Pain flashed through me, hot and sickly, but I was too fucking pissed to let it slow me down for long.

He got a few steps ahead before I caught up to him again.

Grabbing a handful of his grayish-blond hair, I bashed his head into the bricks until they shone with his blood. He crumpled, crashing into a crate of empty bottles, sending shattered glass everywhere.

I knelt on top of him and grabbed the closest bottle.

Smashing the end against the bricks, I didn’t waste any time aiming for his carotid.

Another shock of pain ripped through me, piercing my back on the left side and shooting up my spine. My lungs felt like they stopped working. I gasped and gritted my teeth, stabbing down with the jagged bottle as hard as I could. Blood gushed out of Kazimir’s throat, flooding around the green glass. He gurgled, pawing at the bottle feebly before fucking smiling at me.

I could have drawn out the pain, the punishment, for that look alone. But honestly, I didn’t care anymore. I wanted him fucking dead. The sooner the better.

Ripping the bottle neck out of his throat, I slid off of him and onto the floor. The blood spurting out of his artery slowed to a steady ooze as I collapsed against the wall behind me. The pain I felt earlier surged with each movement, no matter how small. Each breath was shallow, laced with agony. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness.

Clawing my way up the wall, I forced myself to stand even though it felt like the earth was swaying beneath my boots. My back was strangely hot, along with the throbbing pain in my bicep.

A single gunshot rang out.

My eyes flew open. I tried to sprint back to the front room but I ended up crashing into the next wall. Ping-ponging myself from one surface to the next, I finally stumbled out into the open again, trying to see what the fuck happened as my vision blurred in and out of focus.

The Irishmen were drinking at the bar, bloody and victorious, with half a dozen dead men scattered about the place.

Only Misha was still standing, a pistol hanging at his side. Daria lay at his feet, her eyes open wide. Blood ran from the bullet hole in her forehead, staining her blonde hair.

“What the fuck?” I stopped short, grabbing onto the bar top and glancing between the blurry figures that I knew were Misha and Daria.

“We could never trust her after the things she’s done. There was no way she was going to walk out of here alive,” Misha replied, holstering the gun inside his suit jacket. “Sasha!”

The bar tilted.

I heard my name at the same time my knees slammed into the floor, followed by my face.

My fingers dug into the scuffed wood, but no matter how hard I tried to push myself up, I couldn’t. It’s like my body had finally turned to stone — cold, hard, unmoving.

That was the last thing I saw — the old, scarred floorboards beneath my bloody hands. All I felt was overwhelming disappointment in myself.

34

ROAN

AS SOON AS my phone rang, I pounced on it. Sasha had been gone for hours. Too many hours. Way longer than any of his other “meetings” usually lasted. My curious texts went unread. My angry texts went unread. My worried phone calls went straight to voicemail.

So, when a Chicago number I didn’t recognize flashed across the screen, I was hopeful. Normally I wouldn’t have answered a number I didn’t have in my phone, but maybe he was using someone else’s. Maybe his died, or he broke it, or lost it, or… something. Something completely innocent.

“Sasha?!”

“Um, no. But hey, I guess I got the right number,” a decidedly non-Russian male replied.

My whole body froze. Muscles, limbs, circulation — everything. In the span of five seconds, I morphed into a living block of ice. “Who is this?”

“That ain’t important. So, listen, Sasha had a little bit of an accident—Sean, shut him the fuck up, would you? I’m on the phone here!” Another male yelled something and the mystery caller cleared his throat. “Anyway. Um, he’s in the hospital. Advocate over on Wellington. They wanted you to know.”

I heard the words, but I still had a hard time comprehending what this anonymous stranger was telling me. Sasha. Hospital. It didn’t compute. The man had been shot and instead of seeking professional treatment he was fully prepared to cauterize the wound with a fucking butcher knife in his kitchen. What could be worse than getting shot? Except, shot again? Shot in a worse spot than his arm?

“They? What happened? Who’s they?” I asked. And why the fuck was this random person calling me and not Sasha? Or Misha? Or anyone else who knew I fucking existed? I would have even taken Valery at that point, or Maxim with his broken English.

“Good luck, kid.”

“No, wait!”

The guy hung up anyway.

“Fuck!” I stared at the phone for all of two seconds before jumping to my feet. I sprinted to the door and yanked on the first pair of shoes I saw, not even bothering to grab a coat on my way out.

MISHA WAS in the hospital lobby when I got there. He looked perfect, as usual, except for the worried look on his face. It made me irrationally angry that he looked fucking perfect while Sasha was in the hospital for God knew what fucking reason! And since Misha looked so goddamn perfect, why didn’t he call me?!

“He’s alright,” Misha said, putting his hands up as I charged at him. “He got out of surgery a little bit ago.”

“Surgery?! For what? And why the fuck didn’t you call me?!”

Wrapping his fingers around my bicep gently, Misha led me away from anyone who might overhear us, lowering his voice as well. “Kazimir stabbed him in the kidney. I don’t know if they were able to save it or not. There was a lot of blood loss and he went into shock. We still don’t know if there was any poison on the knife. That will take time for the labs to come back.”

Stabbed. Shock. Poison.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I shoved him in the chest as hard as I could. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing, considering who Misha was, but I didn’t give a flying fuck about rank or skills or anything. I thought he was a decent person and a decent person would have fucking called! “At any point over the past few hours did you stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I would want to fucking know he’d been hurt?!”

“Shhh!” Misha glared at me, his gaze darting past my head to make sure the coast was clear before turning back to me. “I know you’re angry, but I wasn’t going to call you until I knew he’d be alright. As soon as I was assured he’d live, I had one of our associates reach out.”

Folding my arms over my chest, I expelled a short breath, trying to calm myself down again. I’m sure there was some sort of criminal explanation for why he didn’t want to call himself, but that ship had sailed so I did my best to let it go. “Did you at least get him? Kazimir?”

Misha nodded. “Sasha did.”

“Good.” It was cold comfort, but at least if Sasha did die from some super secret Cold War poison, that was one less Russian crime boss I had to worry about. “Can I see him?”

“Of course. They were bringing him out of recovery right before you got here.”

Trailing behind Misha like a lost puppy, I stayed a step behind him until he slowed down again. The minute I saw Sasha’s hand laying on top of the sheet, an IV stuck in the center of it, I shoved Misha out of the way and ran into the room.

Sasha was awake, barely. All things considered, he looked ok, not like he’d nearly died. Again. His bicep had been re-bandaged and from the angle of his hips it was safe to say he’d been stabbed on the left side.

Blinking and glaring at different things in the room, Sasha didn’t even seem to recognize me when I darted in. It wasn’t until I laid my hand on his arm that he turned and looked at me, his brows furrowed. “Solnyshko?”

“Yeah.” I smiled, trying really fucking hard not to cry. “It’s me.”

A fleeting smile crossed his lips before he proceeded to babble in Russian, gesticulating in random motions. Apparently he had zero concern with the fact I had no fucking clue what he was saying. He kept talking until he reached the end of his story and watched me, like he was waiting for my answer.

I looked to Misha for help, grateful he was lingering near the doorway despite me being an asshole to him. “Did you understand any of that?”

Misha chuckled. “Something about dwarves? I don’t know. He’s very proud of killing whatever it is.”

“Of course he is.” Shaking my head, a small laugh made its way out, a combination of the fear I’d been bottling up and exasperated amusement at my Russian hitman, killing people even under anesthesia. Before I could help it, the laughter turned to tears. I tried to sniff them back, but it was too late. Once the floodgates opened, they streamed down my cheeks with no sign of stopping.

Sasha was fine. He was alive. Maybe minus a kidney, but plenty of people functioned on one kidney. I should have been happy, not crying all over myself because of a scenario that hadn’t happened.

“I’ll check in later,” Misha said quietly before excusing himself.

I tried to wipe the tears away, but within seconds, my face was streaked with more of them.

When Sasha looked up again, his pale gaze narrowed at the same time his mouth set in a hard line. His hand wobbled in the air, reaching for me, until I leaned down and nuzzled my wet cheek against his palm.

“Vse putem,” he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheekbone.

“No, it’s not alright, Sasha! You’re not alright! I’m so fucking mad at you right now,” I said through clenched teeth, trying and failing to not lose my shit entirely. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself! What am I supposed to do if something happens to you? People are never going to stop coming after you and I can’t fucking lose you! Not like this. I want it to be to cancer in fifty years because you won’t quit with the fucking cigarettes. Or liver failure because of how much you fucking drink. I don’t want to lose you before we’ve even had a chance to really live.”

I didn’t know if he heard a word I said, or if the English dictionary in his brain was even up and running yet. He didn’t say anything after the conclusion of my tirade, he just gazed up at me, blinking slowly now and again.

“I love you,” I said, releasing another flood of tears.

His hand shifted off my face and his fingers slipped through my hair, moving around to the back of my head. Pulling me downward with one hand, he reached for me with the other. As soon as I was close enough, he snagged my shirt in his fingers and yanked.

I got the hint and climbed into bed next to him, balancing precariously on the edge while curling up against his right side. It seemed safer to deal with his injured bicep than a punctured kidney.

Wrapping his arm around me, he buried his nose in my hair and sighed. His chest rose and fell steadily, his breathing deepening. Less than five minutes later, he was asleep.

One of the nurses came in sometime after that, glowering at me and the fact we were squished into a bed designed for one person. I shrugged and gestured at him helplessly. I mean, what was I supposed to do? He clearly needed rest and I was trapped beneath his arm.

Instead of making me move, she shook her head and walked out again. I was probably asleep before she even reached the nurse’s station.

35

SASHA

One month later

“I’M DONE,” I announced, squaring my shoulders.

Misha turned toward me, his head cocked. “Excuse me?”

In the weeks following Kazimir’s death, my life came into sharp focus. With him dead, the last threat was gone. There could always be others, but if I left that world, perhaps they’d have a harder time finding me — finding Roan.

I planned on sitting down with Misha, him and Sergei both, and explaining the reason for my decision but I couldn’t wait. As soon as I was more or less healed from my surgery, I sought Misha out at his penthouse, prepared to do anything to secure my release — pay for it, bleed for it, or make him bleed for it.

“I’m done, Misha. Finished. Kazimir was the last kill for me.” Despite the look he gave me, along with the furrowed brow, I held my ground. I couldn’t afford to second-guess my decision because for the first time in my life my decisions didn’t just impact me. “I have to get Roan away from this. He deserves more.”

“Where will you go?”

“I have no idea. Wherever he wants.”

Misha was quiet for another moment, his jaw shifting now and again until he stuck out his hand. “I understand. You will be greatly missed.”

I shook his hand with a small smile. “Can you set up a time to meet with Sergei for me?”

“I’ll tell him. After all, I did say the man who killed Kazimir could claim whatever reward they wanted. If this is what you truly want, I cannot go back on my word.” He took a step closer, searching my face. “So, is it? What you truly want?”

I didn’t even hesitate to answer. “I want Roan. I want to keep him safe and give him the happiness he deserves. I can’t do that if I’m the Wolf.”

He nodded as I spoke, but there was a touch of sadness in his eyes when he smiled. “I wish you two nothing but the best, wherever life takes you.”

WHEN I WALKED in the bedroom, Roan sat up, yanking his headphones off. “What did Misha want?”

“It was me who called the meeting,” I replied, easing onto the bed next to him.

He cocked his head, his brows dipping. “For what? You’re not going back to work already, are you? It’s only been a month! The doctor—”

I shook my head, cutting his lecture off before he got on a roll. “No, I’m done.”

“Done?” A mixture of suspicion and fear flashed across his face. “What does that mean ‘done’? Done, like, how?”

Brushing the hair off his forehead, I trailed my fingers down the side of his face. “I’m done. I’m out. Finished.”

“What?” Hope practically glimmered in his blue eyes, but he seized my forearm at the same time.

“The Wolf is no more.” That sentence hit me hard, my own words sucker punching me in the gut. The Wolf is no more. But I was the Wolf. Without him, who the hell was I? I had no fucking clue.

Roan’s voice broke through my thoughts, bringing me back to him. “But you said they wouldn’t let you go. How did you convince Misha to say yes?”

I rested my forehead against his and sighed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. That’s the most important thing.”

“You’re right.” He wormed his way onto my lap, wrapping his arms around my neck with a contented sigh. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know what.”

“Do not think you’re going to start paying for everything now. It’s bad enough you’ve been playing nursemaid for the past month.”

He pushed away from me, folding his arms over his chest, but made no move to actually get off my lap. “You had an organ removed!”

“It was just one and there’s barely a scar.” Lifting an eyebrow, I slid my hands underneath his t-shirt, running them up his back.

“No,” he said with a resolute shake of his head.

Ignoring his scowl, I curled my hands around his shoulders and forced him down so I could press my lips to his.

He kissed me for a moment before flattening his palms against my chest and pushing me back. “No. Not yet.”

“I’m fine.” I didn’t necessarily mean to growl it, but that’s how it came out.

Crossing his arms again, Roan cocked his head and gave me a mockingly concerned look. “Oh, really? Well, Dr. Vassiliev, I’m glad you’ve decided you’re fine and aren’t relying on the other guy’s opinion. You know, the one who sliced you open a month ago to take out a kidney. ‘Cuz that guy said you have another two weeks to go before doing any sort of strenuous activity.”

“It’s not strenuous,” I countered, grabbing his wrists and forcibly uncrossing his arms so I could get close enough to kiss his neck.

“If you don’t consider the things we’ve done strenuous, I don’t think I want to know what else you’re capable of.” As soon as I let go of his wrists, his hands were in my hair. He tipped his head back, giving me better access to his throat. I happily obliged him with more kisses and a couple nips thrown in for good measure.

The first moan out of his mouth went straight to my cock. I knew he was worried for me, the way I’d been for him, but I couldn’t take waiting any longer. Hypocritical, I know, but I always said Roan was better than me.

I tore his t-shirt off and flung it behind him, doing the same with mine a second later. Pressing kisses across his chest, I flicked my tongue over one of his nipples while toying with the other until he seized my face in both hands and kissed me greedily. So much for “no.”

As soon as I grabbed his hips, I couldn’t help but grind against him, trying to relieve some of desperate ache for both of us. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have waited so long after his attack to be affectionate again. I should have trusted him to know himself better than I did. I should have given him what he wanted — what he needed — when he asked for it. Now that the table had been officially turned, I understood. Not entirely, but enough. Fortunately for me, Roan wasn’t an arrogant asshole who refused to give in, no matter how noble the reason.

As if sensing the apology running through my head, he brushed his nose against mine and smiled softly. “You know I love you.”

“I know.”

He pushed me back onto the mattress gently and slipped down my thighs, taking my jeans with him. Shedding the rest of his clothing, he knelt between my legs and motioned for me to scoot back. Once there was enough room for him, he leaned down toward my cock, his hot breath washing over it. Without making contact, he swerved and planted a kiss to the inside of my thigh.

The breath I expelled was part sigh, part growl. It may have been a fitting punishment, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

Chuckling softly, he kept kissing everywhere except the one place he knew I wanted. Even his hands steered clear by massaging and caressing everything else, my legs, my abs, the sharp V that ran to my pelvis.

“What’s wrong?” Roan asked, dragging his blunt nails down the insides of my thighs, skimming right past my dick. His eyes were soft and oh-so-innocent, but the little smirk on his face contradicted it. “You’re awfully squirmy today.”

“You’ve made your point,” I conceded with a roll of my eyes.

“Oh yeah?” His head dipped down. The tip of his tongue swiped up the underside of my length while he gently rolled the foreskin back.

“Yes.” I sighed the word, closing my eyes as a chill ran down my spine.

“I couldn’t hear you,” he murmured before swirling his tongue around the head, grazing his teeth against it just enough to make me gasp.

“Yes!” My eyes opened again so I could glare at him. The innocence in his eyes was gone, replaced by amusement. He made sure I was watching as he swallowed my cock.

Fuck, I’d missed this. He knew just what to do to push me to the edge, until I couldn’t even see straight. His mouth alone was amazing, but then he added his hands to the mix, stroking and caressing and driving me fucking crazy.

I ran my fingers through the top of his hair and bit my lower lip, trying to delay the inevitable. “Come here.”

He gave my cock one last lick and crawled up my body, pausing to tease my nipples with his tongue.

Wrapping my hands around his biceps, I yanked him up the rest of the way, kissing him hard. His tongue met mine eagerly while he thrust his hips against me, our cocks sliding together with pre-cum and saliva.

I slipped my arms around his torso but before I could roll him over, he sat up, straddling my lap again and shaking his head. “I said no.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? What about…?” I gestured to both of our cocks. He wouldn’t be that mean to both of us… would he? Yes, he most certainly would, stubborn little shit. I licked my lips, prepared to argue my case when he spoke first.

“On one condition.” He arched an eyebrow at me, his fingertips dancing over my tattoos.

I eyed him suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“You are not an active participant.”

My brow furrowed, running through the possible scenarios and trying to envision what he was talking about.

He must have taken my silence for agreement, since he leaned over and grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand. Pouring a generous amount over my cock, he gave it a few lazy strokes, his eyebrow arching again. “No standing. No kneeling. You don’t even get to be on top. You’re just going to lay there and not move. I will not be the reason you have to go back to the hospital for internal bleeding. Understood?”

I knew I was supposed to be paying attention to whatever was coming out of his mouth, but the only thing I was really concentrating on was the way his hand felt sliding up and down my shaft. Still, I managed to groan out a “Yes,” earning me a pleased smile.

Roan rose up on his knees and repositioned himself over my cock.

I was about to question the lack of prep, but the thought went right out of my head when he sank down again, taking my cock little by little. Each gasp and moan he made gave me goosebumps, mirroring my own groans and sighs.

“Oh, fuck, Sasha…”

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” When I was all the way in, I reached for his hips but he intercepted my hands and shook his head slowly.

“No. No participating.”

I scowled at him. “I need to touch you.”

“Too bad.” He pushed them back toward my chest before letting go, balancing both of his palms against my pecs. “Put them behind your head. And don’t move.”

Folding my arms behind my head as ordered, I took a moment to appreciate the view. Of course he’d sat on my lap before, but not like this. And never with so much command.

He closed his eyes and rocked his hips, giving himself over to the pleasure. It was so goddamn sexy. Interlacing my fingers behind my head so I didn’t break his damn condition, I was torn between enjoying the feel of him and wanting to hold off as long as possible for his benefit.

Every so often, I’d thrust upward when he came down, making him moan or swear. Thank God he didn’t stop and try to scold me. If anything, my rebellion seemed to encourage him.

Since I got away with that, I unfolded one arm from its restrictive position and snagged the bottle of lube.

“Sasha…” He growled my name, but didn’t stop rocking his hips. With the way he was leaking pre-cum, I doubted he’d stop me anytime soon, so I felt confident ignoring him. I squirted a couple pumps of lube into my hand, immediately coating his cock with it.

“Oh fuck.” He bit his lip and then glared at me, even though he looked sexier than hell instead of mad. “What did I say?”

“Do I look like I give a shit?” I answered in Russian with a smirk, working my hand up and down his shaft while he rode my cock. Faster, harder. With a fuck ton more swearing from both of us.

“You feel so fucking good,” he panted, brushing my hand out of the way and stroking himself.

“Fuck, yes,” I said, taking the opportunity to grab his hips with both hands. Holding him in place, I thrust up harder from the bottom. My balls drew up tighter each time the tight heat of his body enveloped my cock, pushing us both closer to the edge.

To help that happen, I took his face between my hands and yanked him downward, crushing his lips to mine. I fucked into him even harder with my tongue and my cock, fingers twisted in his golden hair until we had no choice but to pull apart for air.

“Oh my God! Sasha… I’m—” He came with a strangled cry, shooting his release all over my abs. That’s all it took for me to reach my own orgasm. As soon as his body tightened around me, stars burst behind my eyelids and I slammed into him one final time with my own string of curses.

He collapsed on top of me, sweaty and flushed, the heavy rise and fall of his chest matching my own.

“Yeah, I guess you’re fine after all,” Roan said with a soft laugh. “Listen to me this time and just stay there, ok?”

Considering the fact my body felt like jelly and I’d probably fall flat on my face if I tried to stand, I raised my hands in submission. “Not moving.”

He eased off me carefully and disappeared into the bathroom.

Exhaling a ragged breath, I scrubbed a hand over my face and blinked hard a couple of times, trying to shake off the blissful haze. If I fell asleep before he came back, I’d never hear the end of it.

After what felt like an hour, Roan returned. Running a warm washcloth over my stomach and my dick, he cleaned up everything before setting it on the nightstand and climbing back onto the bed.

We slid up into the pillows and I pulled the sheet over us. I was still hotter than hell, but I knew he’d be cold within minutes.

“What are you going to do now?” Roan asked quietly as he curled up against me, pressing his cheek to my chest and absentmindedly tracing my tattoos.

“The fuck if I know.” I’d been thinking about that exact thing while he was in the bathroom. I had plenty of money stashed away, but there was no telling how long we could live on that. Especially if Roan decided he wanted to move to some exotic location even more expensive than Chicago. I’d have to get a real job… an honest job. Like a normal person. That thought alone almost made me rush back upstairs to tell Misha I was taking it all back.

“We’ll figure something out. I have faith in you.” He tightened his arm around my waist and pulled himself upward, kissing me softly.

I didn’t know about faith, but he was right about one thing. I’d survived this long through sheer determination. I would survive finding my way in a new world, as long as he was with me.

36

ROAN

Six months later

INTERLACING my fingers beneath the table, I pushed them outward, cracking the knuckles while the various members of the NIB&T board barked back and forth at each other over the bank’s current predicament.

“He was indicted, Howard! On federal charges!” Warren said, slapping his palm against the table. “The bylaws are clear. He is no longer fit to serve as the head of this board. We need to have an emergency vote to determine who will fill the position in the interim.”

“Oh, and I suppose you think it should be you? Phillip hasn’t even been gone that long!” Howard snapped back.

“It’s been six months!”

“Perhaps we should let our guest have the floor for a bit,” Mitchell said with a polite smile and a nod in my direction.

“I’m actually waiting for my lawyer to get here,” I said, stealing a glance at my watch to see how late he was.

“Can you at least tell us what this is about?” Warren asked, leaning forward over the table to squint at me.

“Making sure my family’s interests are being protected,” I replied smoothly, adding a polite smile as a salve to what could most definitely be taken as an insult.

The door to the conference room swung open, putting an end to the beginning of Warren’s blustering. Bennett rushed through, wearing a turquoise blazer and a pair of houndstooth pants. The disapproving grumbles around the table started almost immediately.

Bennett held his heavily-ringed hands up in apology before slapping his palms together and rubbing them briskly. “Sorry I’m late. Airports. Traffic. Yadda yadda. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? My husband is waiting for me and I’d much rather be with him than the lot of you.” He shot me an apologetic wince.

I waved him off, absolutely no offense taken. I understood completely.

“Who are you?” Howard asked, blinking behind his glasses like an owl.

“Bennett Reeve, Esquire,” he replied quickly before turning back to the table as a whole. “Now, let’s get to the heart of the matter. Since Phillip Sinclair was formally indicted on felony charges, he is no longer eligible to even serve on the board, let alone be the chairman. Likewise, the shares he held at NIB&T belong to the Sinclair Trust, not Phillip himself. He forfeited his rights to that trust thanks to his arrest. Since Laurel Sinclair was granted her divorce last week, she is also ineligible to receive those shares, meaning they are henceforth granted to my client.” He gestured to me with a smile.

“You’re telling me your client,” Howard said, slicing a glare in my direction, “wants to be the chairman of this board?”

“Oh, fuck no.” Bennett made a face and waved his hands quickly. “No, no. He doesn’t give a shit who runs this place. He does, however, care about his future and will remain the controlling shareholder, which means he’ll also retain a seat on the board until such a time he feels like relinquishing it. But you’ll probably all be dead by the time that happens.”

Warren bristled visibly, stabbing a finger into the table as he spoke. “And how are we to know the trust is still intact? What proof is there that Phillip didn’t liquidate it, along with the thirty million the FBI tracked to a bank in the Caymans?”

Bennett heaved a sigh and pulled his cell phone out, typing quickly and muttering to himself. “There,” he said after a minute. “The trust’s statements for the past year will be emailed to each of you for your thorough perusal. Anything else? No? Great!”

“And that concludes my portion of the meeting. Thank you for your time, gentlemen,” I said, pushing my chair out and rising with a smile. “Good luck with your vote.”

“As a board member, you have to stay,” Mitchell said with a frown. “You have to cast a vote as well.”

“I abstain.”

Buttoning my suit jacket, I strode over to Bennett. He winked and threw an arm around my shoulders, sauntering back out of the room as the rest of the board members erupted into a very loud, very heated discussion about what the fuck just happened.

“Welcome to the millionaires’ club. What’s your first order of business?” Bennett asked with a wry grin.

“Getting as far away from here as fucking possible.”

He laughed and shook my shoulders. “That’s my boy.”

I EXHALED a breath outside the apartment door, my hand hovering above the door handle. I don’t know why I was so nervous all of a sudden. It’s not like Sasha was going to be mad. This was the plan. This is what I told him was going to happen. And thank God, it worked out exactly the way I wanted it to.

So why couldn’t I stop twitching?

Well, it might have had to do with the second part of that grand plan — the part I didn’t tell him about. Him, or anyone. Because if the first part didn’t actually work, I didn’t want anyone to know how badly I failed. So now it was time to tell him the whole truth and hope he didn’t launch into orbit.

Finally opening the door, I smiled to myself when Sasha came into view in the kitchen. He had his back to me, stirring something in a skillet on the stove. From the smell and what ingredients I could spy on the counter, I assumed it was beef stroganoff.

“Missing home?” I asked, slipping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek to his back.

“You’re my home.” He dialed down the heat and turned in my arms, kissing me.

“I have something for you,” I said, sliding a check out of my pocket and handing it to him with the best angelic smile I could manage.

He plucked it out of my fingers with a frown, which only deepened once he opened it. “What the fuck is this for?”

“I pay my debts, too.”

“Two-hundred thou—”

I pressed my lips to his, cutting the grumbling off at the pass. He was only dissuaded for a minute.

“Roan.” He gripped my hips and pushed me back, scowling at me. “Where did you get that kind of money? I thought you said we weren’t touching the ransom money?”

“It’s not the ransom money, I swear. That was all seized by the FBI.”

“What?! You gave them thirty million dollars?”

I took his hands in mine, squeezing them gently. “When Mom liquidated all of their assets, I had her deposit everything in a bank in Belize under a fake name. Then I transferred it to a bank in the Caymans under my dad’s name and a couple layers of some shell corporations. So when the FBI looked into his accounts, it gave every impression he was trying to hide their assets. And then when he came back, spouting off about a ransom demand while it appeared he’d been in Zurich, it was further evidence he was lying.”

“Ok…” His brows came together as he followed the sequence of events. “Then where did you get this?”

“You are looking at the new controlling shareholder of NIB&T.”

“You’re giving up music?!” Somehow he seemed more pissed by that than when he thought I stupidly handed over the ransom money.

“No! No. God, no. This is a way to pursue my music. Without having to worry about money, now we can both do whatever we want.”

“We?” He still didn’t look convinced.

“Yeah. You and me. In L.A.... if you’re open to it, I mean.” Fuck, here it was. The real moment I was dreading. He’d either be totally cool with it or totally pissed.

“L.A.? As in California?”

“No, as in Louisiana.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course, California. It’s one of the best places for musicians to find work and it’s as far away from here as possible without leaving the country.”

“You want me to move to Los Angeles with you?” His brow hadn’t unwrinkled yet which made the butterflies in my stomach do continual loop-de-loops.

“More than anything.” Please say yes… please say yes…

A small smile started at the corners of his mouth, morphing into a dazzling one that left me blushing like an idiot and hopeful that he wasn’t going to laugh and then tell me “No” like a sadist.

“When do we leave?” he asked, a dark brow lifting.

Good enough.

I grinned and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him toward me for a kiss.

EPILOGUE

SASHA

Three years later

ROAN SQUEEZED my hand so hard I was afraid he was going to break something, or at least bruise a bone. Still, I forced myself to smile and hold on. His hand was already shaking, along with the rest of him, vibrating in his chair like a hummingbird.

I don’t know how he could move. This jacket was fucking killing me. Any time I tried to take a deep breath, I was sure one of the seams was going to bust open, which wouldn’t be good for whatever label the stylist said it was. Although, the jacket wasn’t nearly as bad as the pants. Unlike the black jacket, the pants (and the shirt) were bright fucking white and so tight I didn’t know how the hell I was going to get them off again. I was lucky I was able to sit without the damn things ripping open.

Roan, on the other hand, was dressed in the opposite — black pants and shirt with a white jacket. It was the stylist’s idea, he said. I said he should find a new stylist. But at the end of the day, it seemed to make Roan happy, so I went with it even if I felt like I was wearing clothes meant for a toddler.

A hush fell over the audience as the speaker paused for dramatic effect. “The winner of this year’s Best Instrumental Composition is… Roan Sinclair for ‘A Siberian Sort of Love,’ performed by Roan Sinclair.”

The pressure on my hand actually increased as I turned to face him. He stared back at me with those wide blue eyes, literally sparkling with all of the lights and cameras everywhere.

“I won!” he gasped.

I smiled and squeezed his hand. “You won! Go! Get up there!”

He nodded and got to his feet, wobbly like a newborn colt. It didn’t help various people were patting him on the back or trying to shake his hand as he made his way down the aisle. Rubbing his palms over his thighs, he jogged up the polished steps to the stage and accepted the golden gramophone with a smile so bright it rivaled the spotlight.

He shook hands with the presenter and stepped up to the podium, gripping his award and staring at it in awe.

“Thank you,” Roan said, breathless. “I am beyond honored to be up here tonight. Artists the world over will agree that creating something biographical is, well, terrifying.” He chuckled, along with the audience. “So thank you to my fellow musicians, my producers, and everyone else who came with me on this journey. Ya lyublyu tebya, Sasha.” He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and gestured toward me before hurrying off the side of the stage.

I love you, Sasha.

Anytime he spoke Russian, it made my heart skip a beat. But for him to declare his love in public, on live TV, in Russian? It was all I could do to stay in my seat and not rush the stage.

He reappeared a few minutes later, sliding into the chair next to me.

I didn’t give a fuck if the camera was still tracking him. And I damn sure didn’t give a fuck if the paparazzi were around. As soon as he was within arm’s reach, I pulled him close and kissed him until neither of us could breathe.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I said, holding his face between my hands.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“That’s bullshit.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s true. You believed in me from the very start. I wouldn’t have had the courage to come this far if I didn’t have you by my side.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Solnyshko.” I stole another quick kiss before the show continued.

With his award balanced on his knee, he slipped his hand into mine and squeezed it again, turning back to watch the next round of nominees. He was still buzzing, but at least it was out of happiness this time.

Hours later, after a quick stop at In-N-Out, we pulled in the driveway of our house instead of going to any of the after parties.

Our house.

A large, modern, concrete and glass structure that sat right on the beach in El Segundo. It was the largest place I’d ever called home and by far the most expensive. But Roan insisted. The gourmet kitchen, the steam room, the beach access. He said it was for me, plus it had plenty of room for his own music studio.

We paid in cash.

The fact he put me on the title still blew my mind. By law, it was as much mine as it was his. Over time, Rule #4 went beyond sex and came to include every aspect of our lives — everything was a mutual decision and everything was split evenly, from financials to chores.

But it worked.

His stupid rule worked.

We worked.

By some twist of fate, we met under the worst conditions and transformed our lives into something I never thought was possible. For me, the credit went to Roan. His unwavering faith in me, his unconditional love — I couldn’t ask for more.

On our way through the house, we stopped in front of the fireplace. Roan hefted the golden gramophone up and set it on the mantel, squeezing it between pictures of him performing and us on vacation in the Mediterranean.

“Looks perfect,” I said.

He grinned and carried on, leading the way to the balcony. We both stripped out of our suit jackets but I immediately proceeded to peel off those damn white pants before I even attempted to sit down again.

“Mmm. Dinner and a show,” Roan said, dropping onto one of the chaises.

“I think you did that on purpose,” I said, unbuttoning my shirt as well and tossing it aside. It might have only been March, but the salty night air felt rejuvenating. At least for me. Roan wore hoodies pretty much year round.

“Maybe.” He grinned up at me and scooted back on the chaise, straddling it so he could arrange the contents of our In-N-Out bag on the end.

I sat on the ground next to him, using the chaise as a table. “Next award show, you can wear the white pants.”

“Deal.” He leaned down and brushed his nose against mine. Before he could get too far away, I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him in for a better kiss.

He smiled against my lips, tipping his head back so he could look at me. Just like on stage, he was fucking glowing under the moonlight. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen him happier that tonight, but now I had and I made it my mission to make him smile like that as often as I could, to see if I could get his eyes to sparkle like that for the rest of his life.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, caressing the side of my face.

“For what?”

“For being you.”

I still didn’t know what the hell he meant when he said that, but I kissed him regardless. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact someone like Roan loved someone like me, but I thanked God every day that he was mine. My sun. My everything.

EPILOGUE

ROAN

Three years later

MAKING my way through the crowd on the busy sidewalk, I ducked into one of the shiny, all-glass buildings.

Nodding to the security guard behind the counter, I bypassed the checkpoint and made my way to the bank of elevators. I was the only passenger on the way up, watching the floors zip by through the surrounding glass. When the doors opened again, I stepped out and surveyed the waiting area for Black Sun Security.

There were two detectives talking quietly with one another, their badges glinting on their belts. A woman in sky-high heels and a tight, purple dress sat across from them. Even with the giant sunglasses on, I knew she was looking at me. I was pretty sure I saw her face on a billboard last week. Or maybe it was a magazine. In a city full of gorgeous people, sometimes they tended to run together.

Shrugging, I waved at the receptionist and carried on down the hall. I punched in the door code and let myself through to the employee area.

Sasha was on the phone when I opened his office door. I paused, but he beckoned me inside anyway. By the look on his face, I could tell how little he was invested in the conversation.

I stepped around his desk and kissed him quickly before dropping into the chair across from him.

He leaned back in his chair, propping one elbow on the arm and rubbing his forehead. “I don’t give a fuck how many Oscars are on her mantel. My men are not there to walk her fucking dog.” He paused, his scowl tightening. “She hasn’t been relevant in twenty years. The only person who wants to kill her now is me.” With that, he hung up on whatever celebrity’s poor PA or manager that was.

“Rough day?” I asked, trying not to smile when he was clearly in a bad mood.

He grunted in reply, typing something into the computer. It was probably an email to Ilya warning him to be prepared for a shit storm. As the company’s second-in-command and PR rep, I’m sure he was used to handling clients put off by Sasha’s bluntness.

“Any reason there are two detectives waiting out front?” I asked, throwing my thumb in their general direction.

“We’re consulting,” he replied, clicking out of the program and forcing the computer into sleep mode.

“You’re working with the cops?” I raised my brows at him. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Who better? It takes a thief to catch a thief.” He smirked at me as he stood. “Besides, they’re here for Casey. It’s his case and they prefer dealing with former cops instead of former criminals.”

As much as he bitched about how bored he was in the office, he was no less intimidating behind a desk than he was in the field. People paid him a pretty penny to break into their houses and their companies, all for the sake of testing their security.

Sasha strolled around the desk and leaned down, bracing a hand against each of the chair’s arms, caging me in. He looked damn fine in his white button-up, opened at the top, and black pants. If we had more time, I’d be game for a little office role play.

“I’m very pleased with your progress, nonetheless,” I said, holding my ground as he came closer and closer, his nose brushing against mine. “Unless there’s something you need to tell me. Some way you’ve been coping, maybe…?”

“I haven’t killed anyone since we moved to Los Angeles. I swear.”

“What about torture? Maiming?”

“Not one.” He shook his head, but stopped suddenly, looking off into the distance. “Although, I have been tempted…”

“Kidnap anyone lately?” I asked with a smirk of my own.

“Just you. Always you.” Pressing his lips to mine, he sucked on my lower lip before pulling away with a frown. “We’re going to be late.”

“Are you sure about this? You really don’t have to. We’re ok here.”

“I know. I want to.”

“Ok…” I slipped my hand into his and followed him out of his office.

Traffic was terrible, as always, but we managed to get to our destination with five minutes to spare thanks to Sasha’s driving. If I thought Chicago was bad, L.A. was a thousand times worse — a fact he liked to remind me about. Frequently.

Walking into the tattoo shop behind Sasha, I was immediately hit by the clean smell. Not bleach, but some sort of similar disinfectant. The black-and-white tile floors gleamed, showcasing the red, sparkly chairs.

Sasha crossed the space and shook hands with a normal-looking guy in jeans and a t-shirt. Except for the sleeves on both arms, you’d probably never know he was a tattoo artist.

“Are we ready?” the guy asked before retrieving a sketchpad from the counter and flipping it open to the right page.

It was a rough outline of Sasha’s left pec, mainly focused on the eye tattooed there. While Sasha held the sketchpad, the artist retrieved a second sheet and laid it over the top. The new design completely erased the eye beneath, replacing it with a giant stylized sun.

“That’s what you’re getting?” I asked, blinking at the picture. When he told me he wanted to start covering some of the tattoos from his former life, that was not what I was expecting.

“You don’t like it?” Sasha’s brows dipped in the center slightly.

“Tell me it’s because of some Russian folklore. Or because you love the beach so much. Not because of—”

“You,” he interrupted. “It’s for you, Solnyshko.”

“That’s so…” Fuck… What was the right word? “Permanent…?”

The artist chuckled, doing a really bad job of not eavesdropping.

Sasha handed the sketchpad back to him with a nod and stepped closer to me, taking my face between his hands. “Even if you left me tomorrow, I would still love this tattoo. You were the first good thing that was ever mine. Everything I’ve done here, the good I’ve done here, is because of you.”

The way he said it, with that deep growly voice I’d come to love so much, erased my concerns. And the way he looked at me, like I was the fucking sun, turned my insides into a pile of goo. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” He kissed me gently, reaffirming his words.

The change in him from Chicago was nothing short of remarkable. It helped that we were far from Sergei’s orders and we didn’t have to worry about who saw us together in public.

After three years of being able to be openly affectionate with one another, it was like a continual honeymoon period. I kept waiting for it to end, but it didn’t seem to. I mean, nine times out of ten Sasha was still grumpy. And the asshole version of him made frequent appearances depending on the situation. He hated traffic. And people — the fake smiley ones, the rich snobby ones, and the homeless who hassled you for money. Not to mention the smog and how expensive everything was. But despite all his bitching, he didn’t demand to leave.

At this rate, I didn’t think we ever would.

Like my music career, Sasha built a business here. A pretty lucrative business considering all of the foreign and celebrity clients who flocked to him. In the blink of an eye, Black Sun Security went from a handful of employees to dozens of protection specialists. They were doing so well Sasha could afford to tell Oscar-winning actors to fuck off and not face any backlash because of it.

Occasionally I heard him on the phone, speaking in Russian with either Eduard or Misha, but he always hung up relatively happy, not with a wistful look or a sudden sullenness. Maybe having Ilya around helped. I know Misha, for one, was grateful his nephew got out and got a chance to start over.

And I know Sasha would never admit it, but California was good for him.

It was good for us.

When the artist came back, Sasha stepped away from me and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it at me with a smirk.

I caught it and folded it, setting it on the seat next to me. He climbed onto the chair bed and eased himself onto his back, the white paper crinkling underneath him.

The artist laid a piece of paper onto Sasha’s pec and rubbed against it like a temporary tattoo. He checked it and had Sasha check it. Once they were in agreement over I don’t know what, Sasha laid down again and the tattooist got to work.

If the needles hurt going in, I’d never know it. Sasha didn’t flinch once, even when the guy went over his clavicle for some of the sun’s rays. Blood and black ink beaded up on his skin now and again, but the artist wiped it away, carrying on. The constant buzzing of the machine was almost soothing. I could see why Sasha looked peaceful. Plus, I’m sure the rush of endorphins helped.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “Are you next?”

“Me?” I scoffed. “No. I wouldn’t even know what to get.”

The humming of the needle gun stopped and the artist stretched with a wince. “You good?”

Sasha nodded.

“I’m gonna go grab a smoke real quick. You want one?”

“No.” He sighed and looked at me, damn near pouting. “I quit.”

I smiled and squeezed his thigh. It had been a struggle, but he hadn’t touched a cigarette in months. Of course, he went through wintergreen gum like it was going out of style. I had it stashed all over the house and in our cars in case he ever, God forbid, ran out.

Thankfully that was the only vice I had to contend with. The vodka consumption dwindled considerably after the move to L.A. Maybe it was because he only had one kidney. Or maybe it was because he wasn’t drinking to forget what he did for a living. Either way, a glass or two here and there wasn’t going to kill him like the damn smoking. If those were the only two healthy changes he made, I was happy. Especially since he looked like he wanted to murder me when I suggested we start eating more vegetarian meals.

“Here’s something you can get,” Sasha said, slipping his phone out of his pocket. He swiped through the screens, typing something. When he found whatever it was, he handed it over.

It was a Russian word.

I cocked my head, like studying the Cyrillic from a different angle would help. I may have learned to speak it over the past few years but reading it was an entirely different story — and forget about even trying to write it. It all looked like loops and weird symbols that didn’t sound anything like their English counterpart (if there even was one).

Like a kindergartener, I sounded out the letters as I knew them, hoping it would come together in my brain. When it did, it hit me as hard as when I first saw that sun design.

“Solnyshko?” I asked, looking up at him.

He nodded, his teeth looking extra white against his tan skin when he smiled. God, he was beautiful. Even after all this time, seeing him smile — actually smile — was one of the best parts of my day.

“I don’t want you to ever forget who you are, what you can do,” he said quietly. “No matter what happens, the sun always rises.”

I stood and crossed the short distance to him, pressing my lips to his before I started crying like a schmuck.

Three years ago, I could have never predicted we’d end up where we were. Three years ago, I was nothing but a rich kid who’d been spoiled and sheltered from the brutality of the world. Three years ago, Sasha was nothing more than a ruthless criminal with no regard for anyone or anything. We shouldn’t have ever met, let alone fallen for one another under the worst circumstances.

Now? He was mine, as much as I was his, until the sun stopped rising.

THE END

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

First and foremost, I need to thank you — my readers. The love that people have shown Roan and Sasha has been nothing short of amazing. I’m so happy people have been able to relate to both of them in one way or another, despite their shortcomings.

Some of the criticism I received after the first book was in reference to Roan’s assault. Some readers felt it was unnecessary, that I’d gone too far. I didn’t write any sort of author’s note for the first book simply because I wanted the book to stand on its own without me getting up on a soapbox. Now that the story has come to its conclusion, I’ll explain why the assault was included.

So, why did I have something so awful happen? Because it happens. I know books are an escape from reality, but that doesn’t mean authors can’t use their stories as a means to address real-life issues if and when they choose.

That being said…

Not all Russians are homophobic.

Not all Russians are violent.

Not all Russians smoke/drink/engage in criminal activities.

But some are. Some do. Some attack homosexuals, or people simply suspected of homosexuality, and do horrendous things to them. How do I know? Because I did my homework. It’s happening in Russia. Right now. In 2021, there are Russians who can’t kiss their partner or hold their hand because they’re afraid. It’s happening in Chechnya. As recently as 2017, Chechnya conducted a very public “Anti-Gay Purge” that the Russian government didn’t really address. As an aside, the torture inflicted on Sasha while he was in prison had nothing to do with his sexuality — based on survivor accounts, that’s fairly standard treatment for enemies of the state and, in this case, Sasha’s crime was murdering a politician. If they’d known he was gay, I’m sure it could have been much worse.

But guess what. Russia and Chechnya and Poland and Hungary aren’t the only places where homosexuals are attacked. It happens all over the world, including America and the United Kingdom.

I don’t have the numbers for male sexual assaults because it’s vastly underreported. Sexual assault in general is the most underreported crime and those statistics focus on women. For men, the numbers are much, much lower. Just because we don’t hear about it on the evening news doesn’t mean it’s not happening, that men aren’t being victimized for one reason or another. And don’t even get me started on the lack of resources and support available for male survivors…

In summary, Roan’s assault was included because I felt that is what the story demanded. Yes, demanded. I agonized over it — to include it and get accused of gratuitous violence; to not include it and have people shake their heads because I wasn’t being as authentic as I could be, or that I’d missed an opportunity to shed light on a serious issue. In the end, my gut told me to include it.

I understand people being upset with the assault in general for what it was. I literally made myself sick writing it, trying to imagine being in that scenario. It’s horrible and I am fortunate I didn’t have to write from personal experience, but rather drew on the dozens of survivors’ stories I read or listened to. I wanted it to be as visceral as possible, to do it as much justice as I could without getting into specifics.

But the part I honestly take issue with are those people who claim Roan deserved what happened to him and/or should have died as a result of his “stupidity.” Roan was well aware he “didn’t listen” to Sasha. It is a continual source of agony for him in both books, despite being told time and again it wasn’t his fault. And it wasn’t! Is rape or sexual assault ever the victim’s fault? Ever?! Regardless of the clothes/situation/level of intoxication/genders involved etc.? If you think it is, I have no words for you.

Yuri & Co. were meant to represent the worst of the worst of Russian criminals — of homophobic people in general. Attacking Roan the way they did was meant to demonstrate the hatred being aimed at a group of people for simply existing, a group of people they think are sub-human. The insults lobbed at him and Sasha are genuine. Russian gays are referred to as roosters and pedophiles and goluboi, which means “light blue” yet has become associated with gay men (and inspired both Misha’s eye color as an Easter egg and the color scheme of the books).

So on the heels of Roan’s assault, a sequel was born. How do you heal from something as horrific as that? How does it affect the survivor and their partner? There’s no one-size-fits-all solution. This book was how I imagined Roan and Sasha would handle those challenges. Badly for the most part, as you could see, but probably pretty realistic for some couples. Some couples can never recover from something as traumatic as this, through no fault of their own.

Their relationship was never meant to be a paradigm of a healthy relationship. I never claimed that it was. All it was ever meant to be was one example of how two lonely, broken people found each other and how they navigated the ups and downs of a very tumultuous life.

So thank you for coming along on their journey. I hope this book leaves you fulfilled in a way that, perhaps, the first one didn’t. And you can rest assured Roan and Sasha finally have their happily ever after.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Truth time — I never know what to write in these.

As everyone knows, writing is generally a solitary activity but that doesn’t mean authors are completely disconnected from society as a whole.

The support for Roan and Sasha has been overwhelming and I am so appreciative of each and every single reader — even the ones who think I have no talent and Roan should have died. But I digress.

Amy — you are hands down the best beta reader, ARC reviewer, MM lover, supporter, and friend I could have ever asked for. At this point, I feel like you know my characters as well as I do. I can’t even tell you how thankful I am to have the ability to talk through my character/story issues with you. Your feedback means the world to me and I consider myself ridiculously fortunate to have you in my corner.

Anna — I am so, so lucky our paths crossed! Your insight into Russian culture is beyond priceless and knowing I have your stamp of approval literally makes me breathe easier. Thank you for answering all of my random questions and for taking the time to educate me on your country, your language, everything!

Christine — you have also been such a blessing throughout this journey! Our witchy, wolfy connection makes my little black heart happy more than you’ll ever know. You’ve become a dear friend and I am simply in awe of your radiance.

Kendra & Tasha — you, ladies, put Roan and Sasha on the map! I know there are countless other reviewers and bookstagrammers that helped spread the word, but I think the love you both gave Roan and Sasha in the early stages is what lit the fire. There probably wouldn’t be a sequel without you guys hyping up the first book. Out of the dozens and dozens of books that come out everyday, people actually noticed mine. So thank you!!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning dark romance author Ashlyn Drewek has always been a hopeless romantic. She's also fascinated by the dark, macabre things in life (you can blame a love of Halloween and Edgar Allan Poe for that one).

Most of her time is spent making up stories in her head or researching some obscure topic just because she's that much of a nerd. The degree on the wall says she's a historian, but the paycheck says she's a first responder.

Ashlyn lives in Northern Illinois with her patient husband, fearless daughter, and a house full of animals.

For information on news and upcoming releases, check out her website at www.ashlyndrewek.com to sign up for her newsletter or follow her at any of the social media options below.

ALSO BY ASHLYN DREWEK

The Leander Welles Series:

THE MYSTERY OF LEANDER WELLES — a dark, psychological romance about a criminal psychiatrist who falls in love with her patient. Finalist for Suspense in the 2021 Next Generation Indie Book Awards.

THE RATIONALE OF LEANDER WELLES — a dark, psychological romance about an alleged murder who falls in love with his psychiatrist… or does he?

THE DAMNATION OF LEANDER WELLES: OR, THE DEATH & LIFE OF BENNETT REEVE — a dark, romantic suspense about a cutthroat lawyer and an enigmatic millionaire and what happens when two dark souls join forces. A prequel to Book I and II.

THE WRATH OF LEANDER WELLES — a dark, romantic suspense about love, revenge, and how far a psychopath is willing to go for both.

THE FALL OF LEANDER WELLES — TBD

The Solnyshko Duet:

THE KIDNAPPING OF ROAN SINCLAIR — a dark MM romance about an American college guy who is kidnapped by a Russian criminal.

THE VENGEANCE OF ROAN SINCLAIR — a dark MM romance about love in the aftermath of trauma and finding your new normal.

Paranormal:

OUT OF THE DARK — a slow-burn paranormal romance about vampires and Chicago cops and what it means to fall in love when you’re not supposed to.

MALUM DISCORDIAE — A dark, paranormal MM romance about witches, Necromancers, and a blood feud that has lasted centuries. Coming March 2022

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

Foreword

1. Sasha

2. Roan

3. Sasha

4. Roan

5. Sasha

6. Roan

7. Sasha

8. Roan

9. Roan

10. Roan

11. Sasha

12. Roan

13. Sasha

14. Roan

15. Sasha

16. Sasha

17. Roan

18. Sasha

19. Roan

20. Sasha

21. Roan

22. Sasha

23. Roan

24. Sasha

25. Sasha

26. Roan

27. Sasha

28. Roan

29. Sasha

30. Roan

31. Sasha

32. Roan

33. Sasha

34. Roan

35. Sasha

36. Roan

Epilogue

Epilogue

A note from the author

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Ashlyn Drewek